Red Dot

Rainy days can be a rarity when you're surrounded by blistering heat and a desolate landscape that seems to warp in on you akin to a simple pawn in a chess game. Various people would view the rain as a virtue gifted by God himself, especially for agriculture, or just for a child who loved puddles. Rain is even seen as something to worship and adore, granted gold and jewels, and even humans to be masqueraded as sacrificial lambs.

The whole concept of it is fickle, and she greatly detested it. For the rain makes taps, telltale taps that rebounded in her ears, as the significance of every minuscule drop has the ability to make her mouth squeeze hard as if it's locked, as she shriveled up in a ball. Noises that only carve into your mind, as the rain has manipulated you into having itself gliding down your cheeks.

Staring into the mirror only makes the rain glisten, as if it's laughing at her distress. Her eyes roamed the tiny bathroom, as it landed on a cross. It's not elaborate, ordained with gold or even made of metal. It stands crookedly and slanted, as if it is attempting to willingly crack in half.

Clutching the cross, she flung it in the mirror. The mirror's response was to weep itself, as shards fell, and now were displaying rainbows in spite of the dim light.

Sweat jogged on scarred arms, or was it sweat?

Furthermore, being cut by water was sufficient enough to cause the mirror to even subconsciously weep more.

The dangling light bulb only swayed, further along, not inconvenienced at all by the sabotage happening between living and nonliving. Footsteps tapped on the hardwood floor, as it squeaked and squeaked, only adding to the array of sounds, making her twirl like a compass arrow, as it racked every corner of Earth searching for an answer.

A solution

One that was never given, it was however sought by others, with nameless faces as they were never swaying, set like stone on their knees.

Utterances and prayers proclaimed to the mighty power above themselves. It was a rule, an utmost unspoken rule not desired to be spoken, as it was a necessity as water. After doing that, they had to wait and wait to be called upon live reverence from the dead, as they aspire to change morals, appearances and their entire purpose on Earth.

Always seeking something greater because there is something better, more attainable than how you are now. A lie that formed the rain to be more cowardly and complex than it was, as it inflicted floods and hurricanes in a testament for those who were too cheap. Cheap in not giving their souls up for execution, or even to grace their presence with a head bowed.

Something the two siblings never understood as their heads only remembered muscle memory being bowed high in defiance to the rain, letting laughter peak from their lips. Like any other inanimate power, the rain cannot comprehend that laughter has the possibility of being divine.

Maybe that was the whole point. For you, not to laugh at such divine creatures and nobility, so that your lifespan will be shorter, though still remain the rest of your years spent in your rightful place below on Earth. Living in poverty being faithful like any other faceless monkey did not contest anything for the siblings.

A boy only having a bullet fall into him could possibly not be ordered by the palm of God? It came from the sky, or it could've conceivably phased through the tall buildings as a slim beam of light concentrated on his forehead.

Much like a mother's kiss, one never granted to either of the siblings.

Holding the cross, his father had graced him with. He fell like any other raindrop in the sky. Leaving the sister with the cross, as the intimate piece of wood now splintering by the harsh retribution of the rain, as it made her fingertips ooze red, as she grasped it.

That day, she learned that she felt only hostility toward the color blue, but now stood proudly for red. As it was the symbol that one of the siblings would wield her brother in her memories. That his image was still held before the toes of God. Taps withheld no sorrow, as she swayed in the rain, eyes, blurry, and disconnected from reality.

Reality it was, as blue still graced it's heavenly way down. Those taps are the remainder of when her own brother died in the rain yesterday. It wasn't that far away from the Lord's day, as it was the very next day. Facing God and his son didn't appease how she viewed the day. Red dots blinked her vision, like the one that was brandished on her brother's forehead.

It was different from the color blue, though perhaps red was a virtue. Her brother was thin and weak, and only croaks gasped out occasionally, and it was clear that he was sick. It was suspected that his days out in the rain, accomplished by other factors, led to his white face. God himself knew his time was near, and gave him that red kiss, though the blue only washed it away, so that he was clean.

Clean like a newborn, though the lack of sound or cries was anything but. It wasn't correct, he should've been red, so that it was clear he had blood to give, and that his blood was still attempting to stay within his body. Only to tell it's concerns that he was hurt, not for it to be washed away by blue water. Washed away, he was from everyone's minds as he was forgotten like a blank flower.

Still having beauty and significance, though it's normality, made it alternate from normal to plain.

Staying inside the next day, as the rain tapped insensitively, pleading with her to go outside and sway in the rain, to imitate her brother. Thankfully, the red dots scattered along the ground gave away to the rain's little game. So play she did, on the wood floors with the wooden door and even wooden ceiling as they laid eyes on her games.

To her delight, even the little light-bulbs even played in their own little way. Flickering like phantoms, she ran from her shadows. It had to end, expected for any fun thing. Red unexpectedly became despised that day, as it seemed like it played with her father in its own way as well.

The same kiss was bestowed upon him, mirroring her brother.

She realized from the window that the rain's taps were a simple warning to what waste would happen because of God.

Beliefs changed for her from then on. She now detested only Sunday circles and the color red. Her only friend was the color blue and the rain, as it would tap beats to silence the rest of the noises, cornering her mind.

Her only quest now was to make sure the red dots scattered on the ground did not have her absent mother in mind.

To make sure her mother knew to stay indoors when it's raining outside.