The tears rained down on the white summer dress. Across the vast lawn the other eleven were picked out in dark shades as the golden summer sun beat down forcing a hazy lack of definition across the entire plateau. She must go to them, she thought, as the sumptuous mossy grass embraced her prostrate figure. The noise of the daisies popping up from the Earth filled her delicate ears and brought an even greater sadness onto her.
The almost-black redness of her eyelids, illuminated from ahead, filled her vision. The cold stone of the old house far behind her had the rich stench of sighing mangoes, The daisies grew louder and her mouth warmed to the taste of a rough carnival,
Slowly gradually the music began, from nothing, and it touched her, at first barely noticeably, gradually stronger and stronger, until it enveloped her. Her skin was angry with the sound of the saxophone. The water smelt like a thousand and one exercise books opening as she entered it, scrubbing the notes off her distracted body.
As it faded ever louder her fingers oozed yet more bitter, grey tears.