December 27, 2008 - 12:46am — Anzel
The rain..
It soaks my fur and chills me like life itself. It is Death, placing his cool hand upon my shoulder, his bones true, unlike the pelt of the name in his honor. I don't like the rain. I don't like the beautiful purple, no...the indigo flowers that stand on every hill and every slope, every crevasse, not waving in the nonexistant, lie of a wind.
I want them all to break. Their stems to snap and crackle as the thunder beams us up into its hollow of fear, and the wind steals the breath unneeded by the greedy little fawns who do not know how lucky they are.
My silver pelt is wet. My crying won't help it dry off.
:< -hugs Anzel and sits in
-hugs Anzel and sits in the rain with her-
:>