...

I am all sorts of lucky, all kinds of blessed, Kelly thinks to herself as she wanders aimlessly while kicking a stone around. The sky was hazy above her, the clouds gray and gloomy. A car zoomed past. A cat meowed on the side of the road. The leaves of the trees rustled. Still Kelly went about her business of kicking the little stone around, walking towards nowhere in particular.

I am all sorts of lucky, all kinds of blessed, she says over and over in her head. I am alive and clothed and fed. It is better, she thinks, for her to dwell on positive things instead of negative ones. After all, isn't one's perspective important? And isn't it just amazing that she could take an experience and look at it from a different light so she wouldn't feel too hurt?

She stops as she reaches the park she used to go to with her parents back when she was still a little child. She made her way to the swing that was always her favorite. It's a little rusty now, but the kids still like sitting on it, especially when they have their mom or dad to push them, or to kiss their wounds when they fall. Kelly watched as a mother helped her daughter up a slide and coaxed her to slide down. A teardrop slowly fell down Kelly's cheek.

I am all sorts of lucky, all kinds of blessed, she thinks again. But she feels her heart aching with a pain she's having a hard time holding in. After all, being left by one's own mother is reason enough to be sad, isn't it? When all she's been left with is a note that says how sorry her mom is and how she'll try to write? It's all too vague. No further explanations, just a bunch of words strung together to form an apology that was lousy at best.

Raindrops started to fall, and the people at the park started running towards their houses, their cars, or opened their umbrellas and walked home. Kelly stayed just where she was even though the rain was already drenching her. It's hard to be concerned about one's own self when you're convinced that nobody's concerned about you anyway. Besides, tears are less noticeable in the rain.

Kelly's mother used to tell her that when the rain falls, it's because the angels are crying for the broken heart of a pure soul. As she thought of the memory, Kelly can't help but smile. Mama, you're making the angels cry, she said aloud, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the winds will take her message to her mother and bring her back.

--unfinished--