The figure in the rain

Roe walks through the thickening haze of pouring rain, the sweet iron of rain mixed in with foliage permeated inside his nose, smelling the rain's welcoming aroma.

He looks up, seeing a figure through the thick threads of rain that acted like static to a television screen. The figure seems to be ever still, yet as he walks it appears to stain the same distance as he first noticed the silhouette.

As he continued, the daze of the rain thickened, yet the projection of the figure remained the same. Roe squints, feeling his face tightening as he tries to make the growing conundrum to be a trick of his mind or any other logical explanation as to why the figure seems to be still, yet moving, why its clear, yet the world around it seems to daze as the rain thickens its haze.

His mind aches; a desire to know swells within him, but he isn't sure why, he just needs to know. Roe's legs begin to burn as he moves through the avalanching rain, the roar of the downpour deafening, intertwining into his thoughts to solidify them as mere silence before its rumble.

Roe runs and runs, but can never catch up to this figure that his mind is so dedicated to see. His body weighs as the rain stampedes him, pummeling him down until he's nothing more than rags on the saturated ground. The rain acted as if it were thousands of heavy needles thrashing his devitalized frame. He closes his eyes to escape its fame, seeing the figure gradually approach his dying flame.

Through the darkness of his closed eyes, the rumble of the rain coats a melody, yet a single phrase escapes its clutching roar "Open your eyes and you'll see my disguise"