It was raining

Ok, before reading on, I want everyone to know that I wrote the following in about 30 minutes while sitting at work. I have a fantasy style of writing, and usually have to add a bit of a twist into my work, so this one has a darker feel than it starts off. the biggest reason I started off like I did was because I really miss the rain, and I believe that when I get back home, I will be very happy to sit outside and listen to the rain as it falls from the sky.

Now this short story started off innocently, but took on a life of its own and it turned back on itself at some point more than likely because of the pain that fills the air here. It's not always at the forefront, but it is there none the less.

Ok, enough of a foreward, on to the writing.

Ralek

It was raining. Fat droplets of water splashed all around him in the cool marble courtyard, each droplet creating its own unique sound as it struck the smooth surface of the marble. He was aware of each one. His senses reeled from the sheer beauty of the rain, and as each droplet struck the ground, he felt the anguish of loss. Each droplet gave itself to the earth, and in so doing, was shattered into dozens of miniature copies of itself, each of which, in turn, gave themselves to the cold earth in a dance-macabre of harsh reality.

Trickles of rain water streamed down his face and arms mingling with his sweat, which dripped from his body, each one ending with the same fate of the individual rain droplets. The salt filled rain from his body mixed rapidly with the water pooling on the ground, leaving nothing to distinguish itself from its cleaner cousins from the sky.

Slowly his surroundings start to clear to his senses, and he begins to notice sights other than the translucent globules of water falling from the sky in their descent of self destruction. Small rivulets of clear rainwater stream past his feet and into larger pools of water. The slightly pink tinge of one stream stands out on the pristine white marble surface, and his senses follow it back toward himself, then past his feet and on behind him.

Turning slowly he takes in his surroundings in the courtyard of white polished stone, and he begins to realize where he is. “The Academy,” the name intrudes itself into his mind unbidden, shattering the void of thought that had permeated his mind in what can only be described as mental agony. His eyes take in the tall spiral towers that climb into the low storm clouds, only to have their highest reaches obscured to his vision.

Tall bronze statues surround the courtyard, each of some “Hero of Old” whose names he knows, but recognition somehow eludes him. Each Hero appears to be glaring at him with fear and suspicion and he can not maintain eye contact with the seemingly alive statues.

His eyes, still following the faintly pink tinged streamlet, notice how the color continues to deepen until it is almost crimson in color. As he searches for the source of the disruption to the pristinely clear water, his scan stops abruptly, his mind searching for a hiding place from itself. His world crashes in on itself as a gut wrenching scream involuntarily rips itself from his throat.

Unable to stand any longer from the anguish in his heart, he falls to his knees and buries his face in his hands. As new clear droplets of water filled with sorrow and pain stream from his eyes and down his face to fall to the ground, a single thought fills his mind with resonating clarity. “Brother…”