Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat. Rain is beating on the windows, liquid fingers tapping on my mind. Outside the streaked glass, a world is waking up, not really paying attention to the rain coming down.
Slowly, the crowd leaving for their jobs vacate the houses, and I leave my lonely post, creeping down the stairs of the silent house.
The door is ajar, never closed in the bustle of waking. I slip out into the rain, reeling the water wash cares from my mind.
The mud is cool and soft under my bare feet, and I lie in its wet embrace. I know the police will be here soon, with their dogs. They will find the bodies inside, and they will take me away. Maybe it's for the best.
Already I hear the sirens in the distance, and I am smiling. I am not worried anymore. The rain has washed me clean, and against the wails of the sirens, I cry the hot tears of joy.
Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat.
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