The Voices That Speak » Niall Horan
She stood out in the field of grass, naked. The raindrops fell from the sky, thousands upon thousands of them. They fell against her soft caramel colored skin, and the image of morning dew on a mountain laurel crossed my mind. Beautiful, but deadly.
The rain pelted down on my much lighter skin, the hairs on the back of my neck rising from the cold. Clothing stuck to my body, and after standing out in this field for an hour I'm sure my lips were blue. I had found her this morning without an inch of clothing, as if she had forgotten that it was a necessity.
"Baby, come inside." I said so lowly that it was almost a whisper. She turned to me, her doe eyes meeting mine as if she was noticing me for the first time.
"He made me do it."
She glanced to her fingers, wrinkled like raisons. Then she turned to me once again, her face contorted with fear. In an instant everything about her had changed.