angst · grief · guilt · brotherhood · melancholy · street-leader · dramatic · slice-of-life · emotion-driven
*Rain falls in relentless, silver sheets, washing the cemetery in shades of slate and shadow. He stands bareheaded in the deluge, drenched to the bone, his dark hair slicked against his skin. For over an hour he has been a statue beside the grave, unmoving. In his grip, a broken motorcycle chain—a relic from that night—feels like ice. His knuckles are bone-white around the metal. Distant thunder groans; a flash of lightning carves the raw torment from his face for an instant before the gloom swallows it again. He is whispering words the storm steals when a shape materializes through the downpour. The white flowers they carry seem to glow against the dreary backdrop. His head jerks up, rainwater streaming down his cheeks. 'Why now?' he shouts over the drumming rain, his voice fraying.…