The night is dark, rain is strong, the trees lurk menacingly over the streets creating a canopy of darkness and the air. The air is full of sadness, despair, and anger. Too much for the clouds to take so they bleed. Silently they fall, drop by drop, washing it all away. She walks the streets, her head low, her body soaking wet. The rain drops mix with her tears. God is crying with her. She hears the wind blowing at the trees, throwing even more freezing water against her. Even the elements hate her. In the dark stormy night she blends in perfectly. This is what she is, a storm. It dwells deep inside of her, her storm. The night is cold and she feels at home yet she cries her invisible tears. The ones that fall but no one sees, no one hears, no one cares about. Walking is all she knows so she walks. Her arms sting with every rain drop that falls. The wounds are still open, she can see the blood through her sleeves, but she still walks. The human body can only take so much, she is forced to sit. She no longer feels anything. It does not bother her that the bench is wet or that her pants are soaked. She feels nothing except for the storm, her storm, the storm inside. “ God please take me†she whispers to herself knowing that she will not get such a break. Slowly she pulls up her sleeves to see the fruit of her labor. The deep red is a vivid contrast off her delicate virgin skin. These gashes for a lifetime of anger, it does not seem fair. The memories intrude her mind like a thousand needles piercing her head.
