In the middle of the wet, slimy field, there lay an old, forgotten teacup with mold and moss glued down onto the wet surface. Half submerged by the muddy ground the cup sat there crying in the cold rain, raindrops acting like tears. Remembering is life back at his warm cupboard filled with his friendly plates and bowls. He wished he was back. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled as if there was a drum in the ominous sky. The rain was pelting now and trees were rustling as if they were arguing to each over. The teacup stared lost at the dark sky, scared and upset.