Splash.

Splash. Drops of dew. Falling. Crying. It's in the rain. The sorrow. The anger. The hate. The fear. Who knows what else? Listen. Listen to the rain. Thousands of voices crying out in protest. Smashed to bits. Liquid glass. Irreplaceable. Here it comes again. The rain. Listen. Reflections of their souls. Angry souls. Fearful souls. Mystery. Reflect. Refract. Fractured into parts. Coloured parts. Hues of reds and greens. But most of all, tears of blue. Hear it in the rain. The incantation of hate. Sorrow. Cursing the souls of those that have turned against them. Souls. Blues. Greens. Reds. Ephemeral colours. Filling the oceans. Splash. Rivers of sorrow and hate. Streams of terror. Spread across the sky in a terrible arc. An arc of colours. Ephemeral colours. And all around them, the secrets. Whispered from ear to ear. From colour to colour. The joy and the rage. The hate and the sorrow. Tearing them apart. Analyzing them. All the while, destroying their purpose. Splash. The dew. Shining with the power of the sun in the morning light. Or is it twilight? Who can tell? Who can ever tell? Flash. The sky turns dark. Bang. A brightly coloured ball of light. Shining. Flashing. Who knows? Who will ever know? Arcing across the sky. A terrible arc. An arc of hatred. Of sorrow and remorse. Of liquid glass. Listen. Listen to the voices. Listen to what they say. Cursing those that have turned against them. The maze of moments. It locks them. Holds them. Binds them against their will. The ocean of hatred is swept around in motion, but without ever knowing the reason for the flowing. Flash. Darkened sky. Bang. Sphere of light.

It's either this or that way. It has to be. Joy or sorrow. They choose joy. Light fills the sky. No more are the colours. Gone, is the ball of light. The rain is repaired, never to fall again. Crying. Tears. But tears of happiness. Bit by bit, the flow of the rivers is stemmed. The ocean's hatred and fear is replaced by a shimmering sound. The sound of laughter. Bit by bit, the ocean dries up, leaving in its place, laughter. Unwittingly. The arc, band by band, is dismantled. Colour by colour. Hue by hue. And then it is gone. Vanished, from the moment the first drop touched the ground. Splash.