Tears On A Hillside
Rain fell down from the sky. The droplets of water landed nearly silently on the green grass, but if one was quiet, you could hear their chorus of plopping and dripping. Dark clouds covered the sky. The air was filled with a sheet of rain and the heavens were covered with a blanket of gray fog.
The green grass bent when the droplets hit it and swayed when a gust of wind came. A few rocks sat on the hillside, scattered here and there by many years of being undisturbed by anything but the weather.
Nobody had dared to come up the hill since the dark event had taken place. It seemed as if the memory lurked there, haunting all who would dare to disturb it. It had been precisely ten years since the occurrence. Ten years exactly, not so much as an hour off.
Lightning flashed above the hill. Thunder cried out in response. Rain powered down at a greater speed and quantity. It seemed, almost, as if the clouds where crying for the life that had been taken.
The tears of the sky trickled down one of the rocks. The clear liquid magnified a small stain on a boulder. The stain of blood that could not be removed, no matter how loudly the clouds would sob.