Lost Cities (Pt 3)

Silence.

The rain slashed right through him. A literal wall of water. A rain to wash the sins away. Purifying. The stains of blood removed from the walls. The taste of hate and anger drowned out. It was too late.

Silence.

The fires were dying out, except for one. The rain could not smother those flames. The green glare licked at the drops, sizzling as each one came into contact with the darkness. Small puffs of steam rising into the night.

Silence.

One minute a whole city, one minute death, one minute nothing at all. The bodies of his comrades and friends lay all about him. All he had stood with for a long time. All he had killed just the same. He had made a pact, in his moment of greatest weakness, when he had felt all alone. Not that he cared anymore. People like this couldn’t care. It wasn’t allowed.

Silence.

The city was a din. The destruction and the rain joining together in a cacophonic symphony of sorrow, of anger, of warning to all those who would pass its shattered husk. The smoke painting a confused picture across the sky to the irregular music of the place, only to be mired and smudged by the steady downpours, like an eraser brushed across in haste on a blackboard. Two tireless forces working against each other under the same tune.

Silence.

Fire burns the city. Rain burns the fire. Rain burns away.

Silence.

The city was dead. Powerful forces had swept across it. Life had left, ne’er to return. The grass remains blackened and the trees leafless. A memory of sorts. Eventually though people would forget the memory. People always do. There is too much noise in them, too much to remember one hushed tale. Life is noise, any little bit of it at all. Without it people forget.

Silence.

For him, the sorrow is gone. The loss is gone. He no longer has her. He no longer has anything. The rain cannot erase him like it does the flames and the smoke. The din cannot overwhelm him. Life cannot return to him. He is the pact. His is a different world.

Silence.