The Heresy of Rain
Rain.
It was everywhere. Cold, stinging water fell from the heavens as though the sky was mocking the earth below. It lashed on the backs of tall skyscrapers that loomed solemnly above, brooding. It seeped through every crack, and permeated through the soil.
Wind.
It accompanied its unholy companion in a macabre dance. It whipped through the air of Angeles Bay, bending over man and plant with its wrath. It seemed that the elements had fallen to apostasy, as if they had abandoned the order Mother Nature left them.
Ice.
It battered on the windows, attempting to break through and break through the quarantine of heat that man had created inside his building. It tore down all that was green, replacing it with a sterile gray.
Lightning.
How ironic that the master of darkness had light in its arsenal of fear. Its roar shattered the peace and muffled the shots that had shattered the lives of two lovers.
Disease.
Those foolish enough to attempt to defy the elements were silently poisoned. Fluid built in their lungs, and fire destroyed their body from the inside out. But the assassin named pneumonia would not hurt its own kind, the mercenary who had just completed the ultimate sin.
The elements had finally gone rogue. And as they swept over Angeles Bay, they aimed their sights on two humans, cowering from their rage.
Derek looked up at the sky, defying their punishment, still cradling the one he loved, whose life ebbed away with every drop of water and every flake of ice that collided against her.
Another streak of lightning, and Derek saw the dull red of blood oozing away into the blackness of a puddle.
The demons of his life came back to torment him, as if he was not already in hell. But he could not care about himself any longer. Silently he rebelled against them, clasping with his last bit of strength the corpse of his beloved, Angela Thompson, shielding her from the heresy of rain.
Depressing? Yes, definitely. Before you come running to me to show me some outer demons, let me note that this is part of a larger work, alright? This is only the beginning of the end, both literally and metaphorically.
Also, you get a bonus if you can tell me the piece of literature the title alludes to.
UPDATE (August 8, 2010): It's been a while since I started writing this piece, and now that I look back at it, my prose is highly stilted. Being someone who seeks to improve, before I move on I'd like to revise and proofread the story I have posted already.