Note: I don't really know how this came to be.
under the pouring rain
He remembers his mother, fair-skinned with charming wide eyes, the image of beauty. He remembers her long, thin fingers, so different from his own short and calloused ones, brushing off the wisps of hair covering his eyes. This woman, who knew him the most, was compassion personified.
He remembers his father, so tall and muscular. He stood proud, but his father was probably the most humble man he's ever met. This man, who he once dubbed as a hero, was someone he wanted to become.
He contemplates how his memories of these two important figures in his life may have been nothing but lies; hazy thoughts conceived by his mind at a time when he felt most vulnerable.
But, what then of the picture in his pendant? What then of all those times when he was younger and had injured himself? Who had been there to clean his wounds, to hold his hand and tell him he was going to be alright? Was that person nothing but a fabrication as well?
Fear gripped tightly around his heart before he could get a hold of himself. Bitter, ugly thoughts inundating him, telling him, making him realize that his life was not a reality. He was not a reality.
"You should be dead."
He begins to accept those words. He should be gone, he shouldn't even exist. He was not human, he only believes that he is. Can he trust his own claim to humanity when several others around him are starting to doubt his existence?
A resounding clap of thunder breaks his thoughts. Then, the rain began to fall - a heavy downpour. He passes by people, all running for shelter, cursing their luck as the rain continued to fall, it was getting colder now, but he did not have the strength to run anymore. In fact, he welcomed the rain. He welcomed the feeling of the raindrops falling on his face, his clothed arms, soaking his back.
He was freezing now, but he kept walking, just as the rain continued to pelt against his shivering form.
He sits down on an empty bench, not really caring where he was.
The rain continues to fall, getting stronger. The winds are blowing, so fast and so hard, beating against his skin. He doesn't feel cold anymore, he doesn't feel anything anymore.
Maybe, just maybe, he's dying?
A pained smile forms on his blue lips, he can hear his teeth chattering, he's having difficulty breathing. He's sure that he's soaked down to the very core, but he stays there.
Then, that is when he begins
to fall.
End note: He's not dead.