All he wanted to know was why the rain fell like it did. Why did it bounce off those leaf petals, falling across the pink roses, magnifying their imperfections? Things should be beautiful. Nature should not disrupt them. He was too at danger of this destructive force. He was under the microscope like eye of mother nature. The beads of water fell across his face, enlarging his skin, splattering across his glasses. He blinked twice and his eyelashes gripped his skin, a moment longer than he had planned on. If you add blinks together over your life, how much time do you miss? An hour, a year, a lifetime? Can you lose yourself in between those moments behind closed eyes? He no longer wanted to blink ever again. He kept his camera over his face, over his eyes. With that unblinking, all seeing eye, he would never miss a thing. He would see all of his life, under the harsh lighting of the sun, under the softening appearance of the clouds, under the cover of a newly fallen crest of snow. His eyes stung with their resistance to blink. He had missed so much already. He had missed so much of his life, so much of other people's lives, so much in other people's lives. Behind those closed eyes, how much could be erased? How much can you miss in the collected time of the necessary blinks? Could the memory of the filmmaker vanish? The raindrop filmmaker, there only for a moment, before splattering before your eyes on the pavement. In moments, you forget its, his, entire existence. Gone in the blink of an eye. The rose petals bent under the weight of the collected water. He imagined the taste of that sweet rose water, the sweet water that would collect around his dry tongue, pink and sweet from the beauty it left behind. The camera remained steady on the rose. It was his whole world. The filmmaker knew nothing other than that rose, this park, this raindrop resting on the petals. He wanted nothing more to believe in the never ending power, the never ending presence of these raindrops in the world. These raindrops, little by little, they had the power to extinguish the fire behind the filmmakers eyes. Behind the glass that protected them from spreading and burning the world, forcing the others to take notice, to keep their blinks for a later date because the filmmaker was present. The filmmaker prayed for rain. He did not want to be awake in a world that had a person like him. He did not want this fire, this spark for others in a world where no one else had it. He did not want to live in a world that could forget him. Forget a human being, forget a raindrop. Forget a rose in a park, filmed by a filmmaker who was losing his life behind his eyes. The little red light of the camera burned on. They would not forget him. The power of this tape, this unblinking film would teach the others, and they would remember him. His fire would scorch the memories of those he knew, and he would never be forgotten. He prayed for the rain to put the fire out. -la fin-

A/N: LORDY BE. Anyone on here remember me and this never ending quest of stories? Well it's summer again, and here I am again with more bizarre RENT writing. I'm a bit rusty. Please R&R, I do greatly appreciate it. And, favorite lines? Thank you so much. Much Love