Title:           Soft Rains Explanation
Author:          blbircapo
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/4MqtB4t8
First Edit:      Saturday 8th of August 2015 02:23:44 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Saturday 8th of August 2015 02:25:08 AM CDT

The steel bit into the soft flesh of the earth, casually discarding it to the side in a quick viper-like motion. The sweat from the man's brow crashed into the ground below, dashing themselves across the tumultuous dirt in a symphony of salty rain. He nervously checked the sky, eyeing the position of the sun as it did its daily waltz across the hemisphere. The time for the dark to once more cloth the land in its embrace was almost upon him.
 
(>steel bit into the earth
He's using a shovel to dig. He's been doing it for awhile, hence the sweat.
He keeps checking the time.)
 
"Shit."
 
His voice painted a stark contrast from the melodies of his work, his obsession, in the air. It was gravely, rough, worn. How long had it been, he wondered to himself, since he had spoken? Since he had broken his vigil? How long had it been... Since he had thought? No. Thinking was dangerous. Thinking lead to memories, memories lead to the past. He turned himself back to the task at hand. There would still be hours yet before night fell.
 
(He's worn out, lead a hard life. Probably on run? Correlates with time checks. Run from what?
>vigil
Someone close to him died, and he couldn't handle it.
>died
>digging
A grave.)
 
It took every shred of will he had not to abandoned his post, his endeavor, to run and hide from what was to come. He asked himself that if he left what would he become? A man without a code? That was no man he had ever aspired to be. No. He reaffirmed himself. What he was doing might not matter to anyone else, but it mattered to him. It mattered... It mattered to...
 
(The person was very special to him, and he found it hard to come to terms with their death. Denial.)
 
The seconds sluggishly passed by the man as he toiled in his quest. He would not argue that he was a broken man, hell-bound for the deeds committed in his lifetime. But at this point the concept of a 'god' was all but a fairy tale to him. No god he cared to worship would have stood by while his children burned with screams of agony. Once he had clung to the foolish faith that there was still hope for this world. But that had died along wi-
 
(Their death broke him. Very close indeed. Also the world has been plunged into a apocalyptic event.
>children burned with screams of agony
Humanity is dying.)
 
His mind shutdown, closing itself off from the insidious thoughts that threatened to brim over their confines and swallow him whole. He was empty inside. His eyes were sallow and sunken into his skull. His body haggard from a life spent running in fear, his skin pallid and breathing feeble. A true shadow of a man.
 
(Obviously things are not good.)
 
And yet he plodded on in his work. Heaving each lump of dirt to the small mound not far away. His eyes unfocused in reflex as they strayed to the object to the left of the hole. He couldn't face the truth. He wasn't ready. Had he ever been? Would he ever be? Maybe. Maybe.. Maybe...
 
(Again, reaffirmation of the persons closeness. At this point you can assume family of some sort, maybe lover. )
...
 
With a final grunt he placed the last stone. Already the sun was blood red as it dipped its toes beneath the edge of the world. But no matter. He was done. A ring of rock surrounded the spot he had chosen. With a thud he sat down, contemplating the mechanical relic in his hands. At least I have you, he thought. A small comfort.
 
(There was a time skip, as the sun is almost gone.
>placing stones
Grave confirmed.
>relic in hands
Weapons of some sort? Maybe a phone. Personified.)
 
 He could hear them. He tried to block out the chittering, babbles, and squeaks emanating from the dark to no avail. The holy light of the sun was leaving him inch by inch and they drew closer every step of the way. He knew he didn't have time to run. Where would he run to? In a field of daisies? Besides this is where s- No.
 
(As with the sun time checks the light appears to be important.
The things that kill humanity appear to live in the dark.
He has wasted time doing this, but as stated before he had to, else he was worthless.
>"He asked himself that if he left what would he become? A man without a code?")
 
It clicked and clinked in his hands as he caressed the metal construction in all the right ways. Not long now. He could see their eyes swaying in the dark as they continued their discordant cacophony. Some of the more brazen of them edged forward, testing his patience. Time to fulfill his final vow. Sparing a glace to the perturbed soil at his side he cleared his throat to the best of his ability and let his voice ring out against their demonic choir.
 
(We learn the object is metal. He probably swapped out the shovel.
The things are intelligent.
>singing
A song of the deceased perhaps? Or a lullaby?)
 
"There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground..." A few yards away.
"and swallows circling with their shimmering sound..."
 
BANG BANG BANG
One of them sputtered to the ground, spewing its bright blue viscous blood.
 
(He carries a gun. Pistol most likely. He held it in one hand.)
 
"And frogs in the pool singing at night..." Closer they came.
"and wild plum trees in tremulous white..."
"Robins will wear their feathery fire..." Only a short distance now.
"whistling their whims on a low fence-wire..."
 
BANG BANG BANG
Another fell with a inhuman shriek.
 
"And not one will know of the war, not one, will care at last when it is done." He could hear their clattering footsteps.
"Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, if mankind perished utterly..."
 
BANG
Only grazed that one.
 
(Seven shots. Most pistols hold 9.)
 
"And Spring herself when she woke at dawn, would scarcely know that we were gone."
 
He knew it would not be enough. He knew he did not have enough. He had already spent one on... Why hide any longer from the truth? There was no reason. It was time. Slowly and deliberately he rubbed away some of earth of the pile, grasping something in his hand. Within his clammy palm, was skin of pure white, the only imperfection being a slight tearing of the skin resembling an incisor mark. It was flesh that spoke of innocence, of youth, of promises not kept. Of a time long gone by.
 
(>spent one on
So he killed the dead one. Why?
>skin of pure white
>incisor mark
>innocence
Probably his daughter. Young she was bitten. Plague maybe? Undead? A curse? He killed her to stop her from becoming them. He failed her in a >promise
Probably in keeping her alive.)
 
They were here. He would be granted no more time to reflect on his sins, his pain. There was only one thing to do now. One last futile attempt at fighting their will, their plan.
 
(>sins
He blames himself.
>their will, their plan
Whatever he does next correlates to what they can do.)
 
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... My little lily flower..."
 
BANG
 
(>kills himself
Reaffirms zombie theory.
>little lily flower
Reaffirms daughter theory.)
 
Conclusion:
 
A father buries the child he killed to save them from a worse fate as a final act of a broken man, then commits suicide to stop save himself from a worse fate as well.