|Tears of Rain
Author: Collar de Espinas PM
Hands ghost over skin so smooth it is reminiscent of satin.' When lives are lost too soon. Rated for implied MxM slash.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Angst - Words: 1,162 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 4 - Published: 06-11-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2190600
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
For Justin, Dana and Daryl.
Rain falls as tears from above this world, a cold, physical reminder of heaven's distaste for the crimes we commit here on earth. The rain grieves, the wetness of heaven's sorrow sluicing the impurities from the ground's face, doing nothing to be rid of the pollution embedded too deep within to touch.
The rain handles only the exterior, dappling leaf, ground and skin with dewy moisture that rolls and washes the evidence of yesterday's pain and yesterday's loss from the surface. The rain does not reach those hidden nooks and crannies that hold the clearest reminders, the cutting mementoes of memory that boil beneath the surface.
Hands ghost over skin so smooth it is reminiscent of satin. Fingertips leave a tingling trail as they continue to travel, backtracking every so often to trace and touch the goose-bumps left behind by the sensuously light caresses. The reverent motion declaring faint whispers of love with every touch.
Hands comb upwards, trapping downy hair between fingers that gently tug and massage in veritable admiration of the strands of dark, dappled-gold sunlight that they have captured. Still they journey, hands wandering with careless ease as they map out the form of the cheeks, ears, chin and lips that they so love. Lips. So firm and giving beneath the gentle pressure of trembling fingertips that have paused in their exploration, lips part in an unspoken request.
Hands dart forward, twisting and twining in between threads of bronze, changing in the light, to guide and maneuver until lips meet in sweet harmony. The brush of fingers over skin reassure and confirm the reality of it all, and hands travel once more, over clothed skin and bare, just with the need to feel.
Sharp daggers of rain slice down from the skies, vehemently crashing to the ground's hardened surface. Stinging rain, accusing as it falls in sheets of damp that wash the ground in floods that traverse the uneven earth, over dirt-clods and trodden paths, over the cracks that spread and merge on ground once dry. Rain falls and pours in torrents that crash with the rolls of thunder, skies ever-grey on a heavy horizon.
Rivulets of rain seep downwards, into the cracks that spread and merge on ground once dry. In hasty retreat they go, in the trickling motion of hesitance carefully probing. The meandering damp does not go far, does not go deep against the resistance of the earth. So it rains, hard surface flooding with the excess of skyward sorrow and the souls that have been lost.
Fingers thumb the delicate pages, lovingly tracing the words that eyes soak up with a hungry urgency. Rapt with concentration. Fingers stop, pause in their motion when ears are interrupted by the tread of footsteps on grass. A hand is offered which fingers curl around, body sweeping upwards to be supported by feet once more.
Fingers wrap around the tree's slender arm, gently pulling downwards and releasing a single pink-tinted blossom that wafts to the earthy ground in lazy, floating movements. Fingers unravel. Hands spread and reach, palms filling with blossoms of subtle white-and-pink that drift downwards. Like drops of cloud.
As hands cradle the delicate blossoms, eyes meet and smile in a shared moment. Blossoms flutter to the ground as hands release and uncurl, fingers meeting and entwining to seal a bond unspoken.
Flooding rain, dashing against impermeable dirt like hardened hearts resisting against the merciless battering of love. Not once does it falter, steady in its tumultuous motion as streaks of icy liquid that cool and steel the heart, which tears at every being, continue to fall. Gatherings of stormy grey hover in stagnant anticipation of lightning that stripes the skies with luminescent flashes to maim the eye, slicing through the rain in sporadic bolts.
Weighty sheets of rain wash the world in motions that would be soothing, blanketed in the terrifying clamour of disrupted heaven. Tears fall, so many tears. Tears of rain wash themselves away, lost amidst the sea of swirling water that is carried away by the ragged ground's formation.
Hands raise in defense, blocking jabs of ignorant hatred. Hands bleed and fingers are crushed, crumpling with a hurt that screams out loud. Cold ground lies beneath fingers that tremble, hands reaching to push aside the blackness that consumes.
Hands rise and fall helplessly, obscuring the white fluorescence that stings sight. Pairs of dampened eyes replace the light, and hands grasp hands in desperate hope, in love and friendship and the need to be near. Trembling hands rise and fingers lie across lips that speak words of tearful anguish before trailing upwards to wipe the dampness found there.Raised upwards hands feel heavy, the power of fading light bearing down heavily in limbs that waver and ache. With shaky movements, hands motion to draw nearer; the wish is granted and words of lasting friendship are uttered in low tones that do nothing to hide the tremulous emotion in them. Hands reach up as fingers disentangle themselves, moving to give way. Fingers weave in burnished bronze once more, hands reach to guide again and lips meet a final time, passing hope of a life continued and future love found as fingers trace the features to be forever etched in last vision.
The sins of man are countless, abundant in their decadent number. Unquantifiable in their evil. Sin runs deep within the hidden crevices of our soul, made untouchable by the disguises we cover up with. Buried out of sight.
The rain keeps falling, the storm that has brewed and spilled over still crashing down to earth ceaselessly. It never stops, harsh droplets continuing to tumble downwards only to wash over the surface, overlooking the deeper-rooted wasteland that lies beneath. The cleansing laps of teary rain do nothing to that which is hidden beneath the surface, to the bubbling hatred or the inhuman actions that are waiting to happen. But still it rains with crashing fortitude, the storm never faltering in its imperfect chaos.
Author's Note: This story was inspired by Dana, who truly moved me by telling me about Justin and what happened to him, and about Daryl, whom he loved. Dana- I don't think this really does any justice to the emotions of the tale that you told me, nor does it even begin to show how much you touched me but I just had to try and show you somehow. Thank you for sharing that with me and for continuing to inspire and amaze me.
Daryl- I hope you understand what I'm trying to tell you and that it somehow helped, even the tiniest bit. If not, well…then I think you and I need to have a talk. Lol. Thank you for letting me write this and I hope I haven't entirely let you down with it.