I hear them whispering. My name, that is. Calling, beckoning, threatening. And that leaves me in a frenzy, a dilemma that pits my curiosity against fear, my subservience against my fortitude, my humility against my dignity.

It is a scary world out there, some say a mad one. But really, it's only a huge mess because of the rain; rain that taints, rain that stains, rain the brings pain like no other. The trickling acid that befalls mankind, a monsoon season which enslaved all humanity. This is the rain of tears, of the sorrow and hurt that we wrought time and time again. And this rain kills us. But we still breathe. Barely.

Flash floods strike sometimes. The momentous gush of agony at breakneck speed; so fast, too slow. We waddle out of our misery, but the scars cling on like glue. Our affinity with water can never be broken, it is a fate we must face and a calling to answer. The self-suffocating deathtrap that is society can only find ways to slow down the leakage but we will all eventually be submerged.

Beneath the times we stepped on others.

Beneath the depths of our wrongdoings and the weight of our crimes.

Beneath the dignity of humans, crawling lower than on our bellies.

We will face the music. Atlantic style.