Red.

            Black.

            White.

            All the colors are swirling.

            The pain starts.

           

            Heavy rain pattered down on the streets. A methodical sound that often put one to sleep, or kept one awake. Rain could be your enemy, your friend, your cover or betrayer. Soft droplets giving shine to its home. Heavy nuisance to weigh you down as you try to get to the other side.

            A sword.

            Black dirt emerges with the rain, making dirty sludge. An enemy of the shoe, a friend of a revengeful soul.

            The orange line.

            Sounds of the rain hitting the black dirty pavement, a parked car nearby, the wet fur of a stray cat as it streaked for shelter.

            The sound of a scream.

            A scream for me?

           

            A scream.

            Black as night.

            If I open my eyes, will it be the same?

            Slowly, his eyelids drifted upwards. Miraculously the pieces of water falling to earth avoided hitting his pupils to devilishly make Him blink.

            Yes, there was pain before thought.

            His weak hand lifted and made its way to search for the source. He couldn't tell the difference between the rain and the blood. He lifted the fingers that touched the wound to his eyes sight. He could not see the color on them.

            After He got used to the pain, thought paid at the tollbooth and came through.

            This is miraculous. How can this be?

            With what little strength was in Him, He turned over onto his side and then onto his stomach. He coughed and felt wet at the mouth, knowing it not to be rain.

            This is impossible.

            He pushed the ground with his arms, and rocked back onto his legs, now in a position that you would be before a king, begging for mercy for a crime you did not do. The rain acted as a guillotine, trying pointlessly to shove Him back to the ground, like He belonged there. But He would not fall back down.

            Who did this?

            He lifted his head and stared out into the rest of the empty alleyway. The skin soaked cat peered out from underneath a sagging cardboard box to catch a glimpse of Him. Short black hair, seeming longer with the rain, fell into his face, trying to be a mask. Through the darkness, the cat couldn't see much more.

            He held out an arm to search for something to help Him up. He found something metal, solid enough to hold the weight He wished to give it. His hand found the top of the dumpster, and He grunted as he pulled himself into almost standing position.

            With both hands on his ally, He stared up at the sky, his black hair falling behind leaving his thin face naked to what little moonlight there was. The cat hissed and scampered away from the gleaming bright blue eyes that met the rain drops.

            The Thin Man was alive.