You stumbled along no longer caring what you looked like to the passerby, not that there would be anyone outside in this rain. Other than you. Your disheveled black hair clung limply to your face, getting in your eyes, the rain running down your face like tears. Your glasses clack in your pocket with each weary step you take. Your once immaculate clothes are rumpled and sodden, your purple cape now black and clinging doggedly to the backs of your legs. The purple stripe in the front of your hair almost blends into the black draping your face.
You walk under an alcove, its protection a momentary respite from the downpour. You inhale deeply, the action causing you to cough violently. You shiver and continue walking. This is what your life had become. A shambling, desperate montage of walking, running, and dodging. You avoid the people you love, the people you know, your friends. The downpour hit you again as you left the alcove. You barely flinch. You cough again, covering your face in your arm. A flash of red, then the rain darkens your sleeve again. You stop walking, raising your face to the anger of the storm. A flash of light and a throbbing, pulsing roll of thunder seem to say "Keep walking. Keep walking. Never stop." Your head flops back down and you continue staggering, now buffeted by wind. Its howling mirrors the howling in your mind, the constant howling that follows you everywhere. No matter how far you walk, you can't escape the sound. It echoes ceaselessly and you continue walking.
~Reader: Stop Being... Whoever You Are~
~Reader: Be Someone Else Way Cooler~
A throbbing, pulsing bass roll and the song begins. The accompanying drum line kicks in and you bob your head in time. The uneven, pounding, throbbing Dubstep is oddly satisfying to listen to. Though it has no tune and no real meaning, it appeals to you. You pick up your MP3 player and wander aimlessly around your house, listening to the tuneless beat.
Bored of wandering, you decide to go outside. You close your eyes and pull on your jacket, the earbuds temporarily catching on the zipper. Eyes still closed, you open your door and don't realize it's raining until you get off of your enclosed porch and are blasted in the face by a horizontal sheet of rain. Unperturbed, you pull your hood up over your shaggy black hair and set off. Your boots splash through the puddles and your black jeans are soaked within seconds. You aren't worried as you cross the street - your bright yellow jacket would alert anyone to your presence. If there was anyone out. A fork of lightning flickers across the sky. The following thunder was not as much of a sound as it was a feeling. You bare your fang-like incisors in a smile. You absolutely love being outside in a storm. Something in the violent lightning and booming thunder connected to you.
Meandering along the sidewalk, you see another person staggering along the sidewalk. You immediately stereotype him as a drunk by the way he is walking. He staggers along and pitches sideways into the wall, bending over. You almost laugh. Sure you feel sorry for him, but you also think it's amusing that a drunk would be out in the rain throwing up. The more you ponder it, the more unlikely it seems that a drunk would be outside. It was far more likely for one to be inside, throwing up on other drunks than to be outside by themselves.
Hesitantly, you approach the person.