122. And I know when he hears the lock turn with her rusty key, his grief will end and their lips would meet in their final destiny.

Bright umbrellas rise and twirl, the colourful sections spinning everywhere, till the colours itself weren't colours at all. Rain streamed down the windows, marking their track with little trails of themselves, a game of chase with each identical teardrops, in which they finally disappear. Crowds huddle under what little shade they have, scramblind into coffee shops, and sipping at their drinks till the rain dies away.

The clouds were dark, gloomy as nights where nightmares were inevitable, and fear seized to rest. Thoughts were foreseeable, main thoughts with tributaries running off. Thinking of home and being late, what the kids are eating for dinner, whether they have fed the cat, or are late for dates, or even just wanting to catch a series.

Faces composed, yet feelings a haze.

A candle light burning away the darkness, a shine slicing through the emptiness. It illuminates how distant the flickering eyes of the man was. His death, waiting at the gallows, hanging onto his every last sticky gasped breath, was smiling cruely, sadistic happiness shining steadily in its cold, unforgiving heart. He's done this many times, each one no different except the fact that it brings him closer to his apparent superflous death.

His elbows rested on his bare knees, the dirt affected by the humidity, they melted and stuck to his skin like mud with sweat. His mistakes has inspired millions not to do the same, his faults a reminder to never turn out to be him. He was the culprit, the merciless, cruel man who had nothing more on his mind that death and murder.

A drop of sweat dripped from the thin length of his fringe, free falling till he reached the ground, a wet splatter, a dark puddle. His eyes stung, and only then he realized thast those were his tears.

Face composed, yet feelings a haze.

And in his mind, he's thinking. Will I be late getting home today again?

Nicole (: