Rain on a night with no moon sleeping, she is hunted. Haunted. A thousand eyes- or was it just two?- are accusing, knowing. Are future seeing past seeing soul seeing. Unforgiving. Cold the night rain falls this building needs a roof, last repairs it had seen were calloused hands pinning a tarp overhead. The rot happened years after, when wind and cold and heat and night ripped away the quick fix the bandage keeping out cold, cold rain. The dark sky holds only clouds the silence is heavy, expectant never really just quiet.
She hears in the corners of rooms the whispers of the dead and wishes for calloused hands, cold hands warm heart holding her whispering, “these will pass these nightmares, too, will pass” whispering words that are only poison now, the rain gets in through the holes in the roof and she only prays for your hands.
“You Are Dead Because of Me.”