Author's Notes: I will not post cryptic messages about this piece, trying to explain the message behind it. Take what you will from it. And thank you to telephonica for being my muse. I'm utterly sure you'll hate it.

Their driveway was made of stones. Not loose gravel, but stones pressed into asphalt. It hurt when you walked barefoot on it, it hurt when you fell over onto it and you couldn't ride your new bike on it.

There wasn't really much to say about her driveway, really. When she was younger, she liked to lie on it while it was raining, and watch the sky. She used to rest both her palms on her chest, like she was motioning to herself. Or praying for herself. No one was really sure.

Then her mother would come out of the house, calling at her angrily. She – in her seven year old glory – would sit up, soak through her skin and clothes – and watch her mother yell at her, as if she could not hear the words but just see her mother's mouth moving. Her mother would walk into the rain, wearing her nice, practical blouse and navy blue skirt, her cheap blue pumps straining as they tried to hold her mother's feet within them. And she'd be dragged to her feet and sent straight to her bedroom.

She learnt very quickly that what Mummy and Daddy want for her aren't exactly what she wants – or what she can be. The paper she writes isn't exactly perfect, and she doesn't know how to explain to them that everything about her life makes her tired. She just sits in her room and watches the rain from there.

She's not in her room now. Another argument with her mother, more bickering with her father and now she's strolling the streets in her pyjamas, and it's raining. The mud is slick on her feet and she walks right down the hill to the park. What she sees is a park – a rusty swing and fort, surrounded by bush land. She ignores the broken bottles in the sand around the fort and steps through the sand and climbs the fort.

And she lies on her back and lets the rain soak through her clothes and her hair and her skin. She lets the rain wash her feet clean and trails false tears down her cheeks. Her head is tilted back as if she is looking at the clouds, but her eyes are closed.