JtHM is the work of Jhonen Vasquez, not me. All I did was write this fic.
There in the rain sat a figure, staring forlornly out into nothingness. He did no move as water poured down his body, washing over his face, dripping from his hair. It almost appeared that he didn't even notice the rain, didn't acknowledge it.
But rain is incorrigible, unstoppable, and it can't be denied, so still it fell, and still he sat, this boy and the rain, locked in a battle of wills of which the winner was already predetermined.
Sometimes I wonder why I do the things that I do. I'm sitting here, in the rain, letting the water pour over me, as if it could wash away who I am and what I've done, but it can't, so all I'm accomplishing is getting drenched. Yet, I'm still sitting here, still letting the rain fall on me, and I don't know if I have the energy to move.
He sat there, in the rain, as if contemplating his life, and still the rain fell, as if a punishment for the boy, a sign of something. After a while, he stood, stretched his back, and began walking, his soaked shoes squelching in the puddles from without and within.
Puddles are collecting, gathering water together, and I am alone; always alone. Even the water has companionship, of like meeting like, and they are together, and cannot be denied, yet I, who is simply the way I am, can and will be denied.
He carries no umbrella, this boy in the rain, yet on he goes, as seemingly determined as the rain, to wait it out and watch it fall. He pauses for a moment beneath a large, overhanging tree and looks up into it's branches.
Who is unworthy of love and friends but I? Is it simply what I have done, or who I have become that fends off of any possible fellowship.
He dropped his head into his hands, his fingers sticking out through his sodden hair, and shook it gently. He had long since abandoned any hope of remaining dry beneath the tree, so his distress was obvious to any who cared to look, though no one did.
It is of little matter to me, and yet, sometimes I can't control the want for people. Sometimes it overwhelms me till I can feel it killing me inside.
Timidly, the boy steps out into the street, watching the oncoming cars as they zoom and swish by heedlessly, splashing him again and again.
Life is so hard to live, yet so simple to leave, so easily taken. All that work to make it something and it can be dragged from you in an instant.
A tentative foot stretches out, testing the road, and then, when headlights flash around the corner, blinding in their ambiance, the rest of him follows.
What does it matter anymore anyway? Nail bunny no longer speaks to me, and no one else cares.
A honk and a swerve, and the car narrowly misses the boy. The driver swears and shakes his fist, calling the boy obscene things as he drives away, his tail lights fading ominously into the darkness.
But then again, some people don't deserve the lives they have been given.
Apparently satisfied by this display of driving skill, the boy turns and walks off into the rain, back the way he came, off to do whatever it is a boy like him will do.
But bunny,... I'm not happy.
