A man

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A man does not create.

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A man cannot create.

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A man merely observes.

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Learns.

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Processes.

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A man knows certain things.

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For instance, how to react when rain arrives.

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The first drops are the warning.

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He must remain impassive, still, as the unexpected sensation of water touching his skin creates a small involuntary shiver.

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Now he also knows that more will come, he can see a pattern.

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Nothing new.

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He will finish long before this rain becomes a problem.

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None of this is new.

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Nothing to learn.

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Nothing to process.

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The sound of rain aids him.

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It focuses on him.

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The man also knows how he should handle those final moments.

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All thoughts are directed toward that.

The sound of rain is distant in his mind now, as he knows he cannot afford to pay it any attention.

The man knows what to do.

He also knows how to react afterward.

The smile, of course, then shouts of joy, the embraces.

The man is prepared for this.

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Rain returns to occupy the man's thoughts. Not just its sound but its texture, the way it impacts his skin and clothes. The shapes some drops take as they pass in front of his eyes. He had never perceived rain like this before.

He thought he no longer needed to learn. He hadn't done it for so long... but here it is.

He has lost. He had never lost before.

His brain is now frightened, all his senses seem to dart and quiver like trapped creatures in a too-small cell. They seek to capture as much information as possible from anything around the man. How should he react? Who can he understand?

Surely, the rain should know what to do; it must have seen so many things, but now it doesn't seem to be of any help.

The man then turns to the front, searching for something. Anything. And there are other men, with smiles, of course, then shouts of joy and embraces. It looks familiar to him. He was ready for this.

His brain becomes increasingly frightened, the man's breathing quickens.

He must understand what to do. How to do it.

He looks back, toward those who should have embraced and celebrated with him.

Was disappointment what he saw on their faces? In some, perhaps, astonishment. Disappointment, maybe.

He tried to mimic them, blend those expressions to process his own, exerting effort on the muscles of his face to align in a way that had never been explored.

The man, however, fails to complete this operation.

Perhaps it's too much for him.

Maybe he needs a clearer understanding of what's required at this moment.

Or maybe the blood spreading across his chest is more than a man can have outside his body.