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Written to a backdrop of rain and thunder

Hmm. About 12 hours after last post. Inspired by heckifIknow. I had to run downstairs to copy it down right away. I knew if I waited until morning it would be gone, like the rain seems to be now. I know, I know. Too many commas, questionable grammar. But for ten minutes work ... not bad.

He brings her to the backyard, to kneel in the grass. The rain comes and goes as it pleases, and the clouds' normal gray tones instead lighten the nighttime sky with a solemn glow. Not even the kindest soul would call it bright but it gives passing outlines and faint glimpses that could not usually be seen at this hour without a moon's aid.

He takes the knife and moves as if to drive it into his heart, but he swings hilt first and holds it there, collapsing on his back with another dull thump not quite an echo. There is no lightning, no telltale gleam to warn her back before she, grief-stricken, falls atop him ready to beat the life back into his body that she could not tell it had not fled. All too soon she feels the sting, his last betrayal his cowardice, his inability to do more than pantomime the pain she now feels in his stead. The blade that should not have been his should not have been hers, neither. And as the puddles of blood and water pool beneath these two, they are joined by tears from two sets of eyes and two hearts now rendered useless even if one still technically continues to beat.

- Pookah

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January 2011
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