(My vignette for English, all comments and critiques are welcome.)

The bitter raindrops streak across the cool glass, blurring together into oblivion. She sits, watches, muses, her face sullen and her eyes empty. The air that swirls around her shoulders is dry, but not warm (that stupid cliché is a lie, hiding doesn’t protect you from reality). Her thin arms wrap around her torso in a vain attempt to hold herself together but she’s falling apart. Wind shrieks against the window and loses the fight against the solid wall but the hurt still sweeps through her and leaves her so torn apart, so weak. Her mind, once a prism (ideas flowing and light scattering rainbows) is now a prison, suffocating epiphanies and trapping her in cages of restless nightmares.

She is God’s loss of faith: bare and fragile and incomplete – a nameless consequence.

She’s disappeared, become a part of the masses. A mere glimpse in our world’s history, still such a small part of it all. Our existence – a tragic miracle. We shouldn’t exist but we do. We don’t deserve to exist and God exacts his revenge on us for that. He lets us live but cuts our lives too short. He gives us hope and happiness and peace but it’s mixed with despair and tragedy and rage too much to really be worth it in the end.

We are God’s rainy days and falling skies and broken dreams.

She’s losing herself.