|Rain, Charcoal, and Blood
Author: cycle.of.ashes PM
Just a quick sketch, will be used later on in an actual story, read and tell me what you think. Please?Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst - Words: 450 - Published: 05-19-06 - id: 2177165
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The rain slapped the windowpane with a vicious force, almost as if it was trying to break through the glass. Ally sat on the windowseat, hypnotized by the thunderstorm. The rain pounded steadily on the roof, soothing the girl's frayed nerves.
For a moment, the rain slackened, and the sun dared to peek through the clouds, sending an explosion of color through the falling water droplets. Ally glared at it. So perfect, in the middle of this raging wind and rain. She hated it for that. For being perfect.
How dare you, she thought.
Even when the weather agreed with her mood, the sun had to interrupt and barge in to make sure she still remembered that other people were happy.
"Get lost," she murmured disgustedly.
As if on cue, the clouds swallowed the sun's light and the rainbow disappeared.
Ally returned to staring out the window. It was darker outside now. If she refocused her eyes, she could see her reflection in the window. She stared at the messy blonde hair and lifeless green eyes for a moment before turning her attention back to the rain. She shifted her weight slightly. Her left foot had fallen asleep. She'd been sitting here motionless for quite a while.
Not nearly as long as I wish I was.
There was no real train of thought. Just an enveloping blackness, swallowing all brain activity. Only occasionally would an actual thought escape.
She looked down at her arms. Goosebumps were rising, and she shivered slightly. But instead of turning back to the rain, she studied the marks covering the gooseflesh.
She was an artist. She'd been drawing earlier. So she hadn't been sitting here watching the rain all day. She swore softly.
She studied her arms again.
She'd almost been able to forget this time. But the marks would always remind her. Just like all the other rainy days, all the other scars, and all the other drawings in her sketchbook. Each had its own lullabye to sing, its own haunting melody of memory and pain.
It happened the same way everytime. Draw, cut, draw, cut, as many times as neccessary, and then she would sit and watch the rain, trying to convince herself that nothing had happened. She didn't want to be crazy.
Ally rubbed her chilled arms slowly, smearing the blood and charcoal together over new cuts and old scars.
It rains a lot here....
A/N:This is probably going to be used as an intro for a story at some point in time...if I ever have time to sit down and write it....