heavy storms

they were running out onto the fields in a morbidly fast pace, their pale bodies carried by their bare feet, following lines in the grass others had run along before. it were three or four of them, and I never really knew more than I was told. one of them was called Timothy. a strong young boy with a lot of glory ahead of him, always the first to talk, the first to act, a character of some kind. he had worked his way up in school and the other fellows admired him for the honest weigh of his words that pleased and touched them deep down their heart. but he was not sane. his luster had devastated his mind, his soul, and his being had become like the machines at the enormous steel factory at the edge of the sprawl that once was called a town; he was working, but living he failed to. the second's name was Elizabeth. never too loud, never too eccentric, never too much. her big eyes and her light heart had made men using her the way no woman should be used, but she let it happen. she never complained, never spoke up and never opened up to her thoughts. she had dreams, and she had a mind. but to use it, she did not know. the third fragile body making its way across the fields belonged to a second girl called Flora. being raised by artists, she never learned to not speak her mind. she never learned to fit in. she never learned to be what was expected. she was extraordinaire and she knew the tales of life and living. what she touched turned into pure gold, the people she gave her heart to blossomed. for all that matter, she was aware of that. she was aware of many things. and she knew that if something was wrong, you ought to fix it. and this she did. if her spare hair would become rough and brittle, she'd take a scissor and cut it off. if she would be called names, she would stop caring and live with this weigh on her shoulder, she knew she could. if her thoughts were evil and dark, she'd put them onto paper and let them go in the river nearby. but perfection was something unearthly to long for. and this, she was not aware of. so, her hopes, wishes and dreams turned into fears. with every step she took, she missed out on all the other directions she could head to, the directions where she'd fine infinite happiness, she thought.
they were running and stumbling over the floor, the flowers, the grass, the mud. a strong wind was striking off, raindrops began to hit the floor like bullets in a civil war. "a storm is brewing!" a little silhouette cried, but they wouldn't listen. they would feel the air rushing through their hair, their rotten clothes soaking up the water and slowing down their pace and with every step they took, dirt flew up in the air and stuck to their body like parasites.
a strong air blast whipped over the lands and they lifted their arms, holding against the storm, fighting it, screaming and crying as if a force could hear them and would release them from their anxiety and pain. and within another second, their pure bodies took off the ground and they let the wind take their bodies away. their longing and wishing to touch the ground again, their screeches to be put back onto the good old earth, were absorbed by the bustle of noise the storm had created and they left our world in a silent but violent way with no one to notice except the lonesome witness that I'd like to call myself.

it was right after the storm had ceased that I went up to the place the wind took their bodies away, and just there, withered up in the grass, covered in mud, but breathing, I found him. the silhouette that had cried to be heard. as I touched him, he lifted his head and glanced at me with eyes of an unspoiled state I'd never discovered before. I remembered him running along among these creatures that once were, and I asked him what had happened to him. "fold in the wind." he whispered. "it's best the times when everything has gotten to an end and there is no hope anymore, when the storm is about to take your body away and devastate your world … you know … you don't always have to fight to be strong."