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In the middle of a highway. In the rain, I pray. For a pair of merciful headlights. To bless me with their strength. There is only darkness staring back at me. It has no interest in the pathetic theatrics. Of this scene I have chosen. For my dance to die. It waits for me to die. But it seems I failed at that scene too. And now I can only swallow. Drop after drop of serial sky tears. For my sins that stay. On my knees in a solarium.

The rain beat the lake, in rising shrapnel. A girl hid there under the rain shelter. The sun still refused to be coaxed out. Consequently there were no copies of beauty. The rain was now furiously beating the road. All through the evening the wind howled. And there was nothing that we could do. In this sort of rain nothing really happens. She did not die much. With a ten year old mind she could not have died much.