It was cold and wet that morning I boarded the train. I remember the rain falling in sheer torrents all around. It was the kind of rain that could soak everything within a matter of seconds and one that could chill to the bone. The rain didn't really bother me though, I was more then use to it by now.

My mother use to sit in her rocking chair by the window, watching the sheets come falling down. She would glance at me with her time worn hazel eyes and smile sadly.

"Anakah," she use to say to me. "Do you see it…the rain falling like that?"

"I see it mamma." I would always reply, very well knowing of what was to come.

She would sit back, watching the flames crackle inside the fireplace as sparks would spurt onto the brick hearth, blackened from much use over the years.

"The rain, it only falls when the heart is sad."

These words, no matter how many times they were spoken, never failed to bring tears to my eyes. It would always remind me of what was to come. What she knew and I secretly knew, what she yearned to tell me but never could find the courage within herself to let her own daughter know…

On an early and chilly October morning, I found her sitting in her chair, just listening to the wind howl through the trees and gust through the hollow, swirling the fallen leaves in its path. Storm clouds were brewing above and we both knew what was to follow. Suddenly she smiled. It was a heartfelt smile, one that was more genuine and sincere then I had seen in god knows how many years. Her eyes sparkled lightly and she laughed. The melodious chiming of bells filled the air gaily.

"Angel," she whispered down to me, not a hint of fear written across her pale face. "Do not be afraid, nor be terrified. The world does not end because of a little rain fall, it continues on. As must you, now, and forever. And I, I will always be watching from the eyes of your heart. I promise you this."

She giggled, scooping my face into her weathered hands as she gazed into my eyes deeply. Slowly she bent, a curtain of tangled brown locks encompassed my face as she tenderly rested her lips on my nose.

"I love you my angel."

That was the last time I ever spoke to my mother. The next Saturday, I was standing over her grave, a slightly wilted rose in hand. I remember my eyes had drifted towards the sky to see the storm approaching and not knowing what to do. There was nothing there but a hollow emptiness that was on the verge of consuming me and it was at this time I felt so very alone.

I did what many do in a similar situation, I ran.

I gathered what little I owned, which wasn't much, a brush, a blanket, the clothes on my back, my parent's picture and a leather journal my mother had set aside for me but told me not to open until I was old enough to govern my own heart…and in turn, it would tell me when was right. I also took what little money we had saved, from its hiding place under the floor boards. It was only 1,500 bells.

After everything I had was stuffed into the satchel on my back, I gazed around the empty house now. The place were I had lived my life…the place I had grown up. I didn't know anything else. Nothing but here.

With a heavy heart, I grabbed the kerosene drum that sat by the fire pit and opened the cap. Slowly, I let the liquid begin to run across the floor, over the dinning table, still set for dinner, over the carpets and the wooden boards, over the couches and end tables. It ran over the stairs and both beds on the second floor, finally, with the last amount, it soaked the base of the lonely rocking chair that now sat vacant in the corner. Without a word, or a thought, I dropped a match into the puddle on the floor. A flame sparked, and raced rapidly across it, spreading in all directions.

I just closed the door and headed for the train station.

The ticket was 500 bells and I didn't care where I was going, I just went. It wasn't until I boarded the train did I realize the destination. It was about 500 miles away in a town known as Loki. It didn't know what awaited nor did I care. I just sat on a vacant seat…staring out the window at the smoke pouring from the house off in the distance. No one was making a mad dash towards it, they just watched, maintaining a respectful distance, their heads bowed low.

The train tooted, the door's medal hinges squeaking closed. The compartment lurched as the conductor gave final instructions. A flame suddenly shot out of the chimney, catching the shingles a blaze. I could hear a few women crying from below, as the vessel moved forwards, chugging lightly. Jimima, a woman whom I had known all my life gazed at me, a solitary tear sliding down her cheek. I knew she understood more then anyone else and I couldn't help become wrapped up in emotion. My hand found its way to the glass, and plastered itself there, unmoving.

The last I saw was her face and the roof falling into the place I once called home, before the express disappeared around the bend, leaving everything else behind.