A vast desert, as dry as a dead man's tongue.
A handful of items are scattered next to a small, dehydrated garden. A few, wilted blooms poke out of the ground.
They use to be large enough to kiss the moon but the rain has been lost.
They were once beautiful colors too: oranges, purples, greens, reds, and blues.
A cube sits on the outaide of the garden, picketed by horizontally turned ladders, patches of yellow grass shoot out from the corners of the cube.
The cube is stuffed with grass seeds, once dropped from a plane many years ago.
A horse stands idly, nibbling at the grass from the cube, pulling back its lips in a guffawed smile. He is the color of ashes and smoke and his labored breathing makes his bones shudder and tremble beneath his tight skin.
In the distance, a black and ominous rain cloud races through the sky.
Eating away at all the lovely blue and shitting out an ugly gray.
It booms with thunder and rain drags heabily in its womb, like a mother preparing to give birth.
The flowers, the grass, and the horse can all smell the approaching storm. They lavish at its sweet scent and perk up as the first few raindrops fall to the grohnd. The sky opens up and lets loose a tarential downpour. The beings scream with satisfaction.