Low winds whined through rusted chain link fences and the holes in his wrists. He was the hiss of the rain as it spattered across the stones, hot as flames. He was the blood, sloshing - gushing to escape into the frigid air, steaming until it mixed with the water and slid across the dark pavement. He was the storm drain, standing on the street corner. His grinning mouth opened wide to gulp down the blood and the water and the filth. He was always thirsty. There was never enough to fill his mouth.
Never. Enough. His lone figure standing in the storm was so much more than a lost boy drenched with rainwater. He tossed up his head, dark hair plastered onto his forehead, and taunted the sky, daring the lightning to come near enough to take a shot at him. His eyes glowed auburn like unbridled forest fires, encircled in black rims of volcanoes. It would take a flood to fill this drain because he had caverns to spare behind his teeth. It would take a hurricane to rush into his soul and collapse those caverns. He laughed with the sound of a thousand dungeon doors closing. He laughed with a depth rolling deeper than thunder.
Taunting. Provoking the skies to gush down like blood. Low winds whined through rusted chain link fences and the holes in his wrists. ~
Silence.
Frightened. Terror.
“Why do you keep me here? Why not just kill me?” Pacing.
Silence.
“I will.”