Black rain

One is reading a manga, and comes across a single panel: the shadow of a girl, long-haired and cloaked, raising a sword in terrible silence. As the story is a comedy, it doesn’t dwell on that and moves on, but one stops and listens to the dance of neurons.

And then one notices one has written down a melodramatic snip like that below, with a new setting for that resonant little image, and has no idea of what it might be about, except that it ought to be beautiful.

* * *

Imagine a bare hill, with plains around it, in a world where people still ride horses and fight with swords. High summer. The hill is covered with soldiers, all busy fighting or dying. At the top of the hill, a girl kneels next to a dead boy.

She stood up, stony-faced.

“If life and love are denied, duty still remains. If life and love are from me denied, I will then let the entire world witness the duty of a Princess of War.”

His face was cold, unmoving and handsome like alabaster; but her still living face was colder and harder, a mask of pain no words can describe.

She held up the sword, and for a moment all was quiet, some terrible premonition freezing the soldiers for a breath’s duration.

Then the heavens opened.

Black rain fell, thicker than night, louder than a furnace, burning all it fell on. The armies rippled with screams, loud enough to rival the rain’s roar.

Soon a writhing mass of grey mist and bodies covered the hill, slowly stilling from pain to death as the rain fell and fell; and at the top of the hill she stood, wretched and terrible, sword held up: and as if it could split even the terrible rain, not a single drop fell on her.

All that ran down her face was tears.

* * *

You just try to read something, and POOF something like this drops to your mind. Life is curious.

If that was terrible, you could go here to try to shock it off.

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