Story, Much?

It’s raining.
She looks up into the rain, the translucent droplets hitting against the thin lenses of her black-framed glasses.
Plink. Plink.
She cannot feel the rain. But she knows that it is there.
No one is out today. No, because it is raining. No one wants to look at the rain. They close their blinds to shield the sight of the stripes from the sky, turn on their television to drown out the plink, plink, and tell themselves that it is sunny. No one wants to admit that there is rain. They pretend that it is sunny. They do not want to see.
No one wanted to see her rain, either. No. They would tell her to smile, put on a happy face, why do you look so sad? Nothing is wrong with your life. You should be happy, so smile. They would order her to stop her crying, to smile, you had better smile, you little brat, are you listening to me?
Because if they looked at her rain, they might have to look at their own. And no one wants to look at the rain.

---

She walks, not feeling the rain around her. She is too habituated to the rain that is falling in her heart; she cannot feel rain. To her, it is forever raining. She is the only one who is forced to look at the rain. And even she does not want to look at it, more than anyone; she does not want to look to look at the rain.
She continues walking, and does not stop. Why should she stop? She has not reached her destination, wherever that could be. She does not know, to be truthful. She has nowhere to go, and so she has not planned where it is she will be going. And so she will keep walking until she finds what it is she is looking for. And if she does not find it, then she will just have to keep walking, now won’t she? No one will stop her. No one is there to see her rain.

---

All of her life, people told her to be happy. She would try to tell them, try to make them understand, but when her mouth opened, they heard only what it was they wished to hear. Yes, they heard, you are right, I am happy. When she truly said, help me, I am afraid, why does it hurt so much? And when she saw this, she no longer spoke to others about her melancholy. They do not understand, she realized. They do not want to understand. They hide their eyes behind their tinted glasses, their glassy eyes, their unctuous smiles. They do not want to know my sorrow.
And so she no longer wept in front of the uncaring eyes. The only time that the tears fled from her eyes in stampedes was in the deep darkness of the eerie night, when all others are asleep, the witching hour, when the rain took the shape of demons.

---

The metal is cold. But she cannot feel it. She is numb. She feels nothing. She hears nothing. Her senses are dead from lack of use; jaded from the life in which all was provided, save for what it is that she needs. She walks along the metal, not feeling the cold, though her feet are bare, naked. When she left, she took no shoes. There was no time. She wanted to leave, leave before they could see that she was gone.
She wonders if they have noticed, or if they have lied to themselves, saying that she is still there. Her absence will not change that house. It will be no different. They will take one of the others, and they will mold her into their idyllic child. And will she fall the same as her elder sister? Will she go mad from the loneliness, and abscond from the house, the house that is not a home? She does not know. Nor does she care. Nothing matters to her.
She feels nothing.

---

The metal underneath her feet stretches on forever as she walks along the tracks, twisting when they turn, following the edge to her left.
They extend out into the wide horizon, as eternal as the rain.

---

Anyone else would have heard the whistling and the roaring. Anyone else would have seen the flashes of blinding light.
She does not hear.
She does not see.
And she does not feel as the metal monster slams into her frail, rain-drenched body.

---

She does not die.
No, she has been dead for so long.
She was killed so long ago, that she does not even feel pain as her eyes see nothing but red, as her ears hear nothing but ringing, as she is carried away into darkness.
She does not die here. She died in that house, that house that she so desperately wanted to disappear from.

---

The ones who will find her body will not know this. They will say, poor girl, it must have been suicide, so young, she must have had such a future.
They will not see what killed her. Because they do not want to see it. They do not want to look at it.
Because no one wants to look at the rain.