[Story] There's rain in the sky

She lived in a field of peanuts and sesame flowers, and only came out when she smelled rain thick in the air. Today, rain closely hugged the sky, and ashes hung in mid-air. A flat grey stone stood underneath the rain, buried in green and white and grey.

“Good morning,” she said, absentmindedly.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“It’s raining.” She looked up, and held out her hands. “There’s rain in the sky.”

“Is that why you’re awake?”

The grey from above was smothering, and from time to time, it would give a little sob. Every time it sobbed, a corner of her heart crumbled and washed away in the rain.

“Maybe. I like the rain,” she said. She paused, and slowly added, “I think I like the smell of ashes, too. It means someone’s remembering me, once in a while, whenever they can. I wake up when I smell ashes. It means, ‘good morning!’ to me. Sometimes, I think that someone’s peering into my sleeping face and saying, ‘good morning, I remember you!’ as loudly and dumbly as they can.”

“I’ll remember you,” the companion said earnestly, “even when there aren’t ashes.”

“I believe you.”

Rain and silence hung in the air, until a stray breath unsettled a fragment of ash from the sky. It floated into the peanut vines, alighting on a small white flower. It made a pretty picture—grey ash on white flower on grey stone. She smiled. Someone was crying and playing in the ashes, but she couldn’t see very far in the rain. She looked very carefully at the white of the flower instead. It was very important that she look very hard, although she couldn’t remember why. It looked very white.

“Remember to come out and play once in a while,” the companion pleaded. “I miss you. Grandfather hardly comes out and plays anymore.”

“He used to come out when we were young. Remember?”

“But we were different back then. Younger, and—”

“Is that how you remember it?” she asked sharply.

“Of course I remember. I’ll remember, always—don’t you trust me? Don’t you?”

“Don’t be dramatic, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I do remember, you know!”

“I believe you,” she said, and then she smiled. “I remember, too. Don’t you remember when Grandfather used to plant cucumbers, and mint, and tomatoes? Sometimes he had winter squash.”

“He built a little white fence around it, because he couldn’t keep the rabbits out.”

“Yes, wasn’t that nice?”

“But I liked the rabbits.”

“I did, too.”

“Where do you think they are now?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Probably dead. Like—”

“Don’t say it like that.”

The ashes were grey, and the sky was grey. She could barely see the ashes, but sometimes, they would glow in an imperceptible moment of orange before darkening forever. The ashes crumbled softly against the sesame flowers, but the crumbs quickly scattered into the air like startled birds.

“They think we’re crying, did you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“When it rains,” the companion said, holding out his hands and looking beyond the stone wall that enclosed the field, “they think that we’re sad. Sometimes they remember us when it rains, and so they burn things. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, yes, vaguely. It’s so hard to remember now.” She frowned. “What do they burn?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rabbits, maybe?”

“No, not rabbits. Something that would make us happy. I wouldn’t be happy if they burned rabbits.”

“Me neither.”

“I think it’s paper. Maybe homework, or phone bills, or something. I never did like homework.”

“You’re still young, after all!” she laughed, and rejoiced a little, though she wasn’t sure why.

“They burn it so that we can be happy again, and then it won’t rain anymore.”

“That’s silly. I certainly don’t know how the rain works.”

“But they’re saying it now. ‘The rain stopped. He’s watching and He’s happy.’” He paused. “D—do you hear them? Do you?”

She hesitated. It had stopped raining. She suddenly thought that if she didn’t stand very, very still, she wouldn’t remember the feeling of cold water dripping down her cheek.

“You don’t, do you?”

She didn’t move. Rainwater collected at the curve of her jawbone, dripping onto the stone in large globes.

“Do you?”

Then she moved, slowly and carefully, but by then the globes were already gone.

“Well?”

“No, not anymore,” she finally admitted. She motioned towards the empty space around her, and gave a small smile. “I only smell the rain and the ashes, now. Not much more. But sometimes,” she added quickly (because he had turned towards her with such a look of anguish and fear and loss, and she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear it at all—), “Sometimes, I hear someone crying. I hear it in the rain.”

“Let’s listen.”

The two stood in the field of peanuts and sesame flowers, holding hands and holding their breaths as they listened to the stillness in the air. While they waited, the stone beneath their feet remembered their names, and they were grateful. It had stopped raining.

“They love us,” the companion said at last, tears unraveling down his face in ashy ribbons. “I wish I could hear them, they love us so much.”

“Why, I can hear them loving us,” she declared, “and I swear I can see them sometimes, when the rain doesn’t come and make everything fuzzy. But why,” she asked, stomping her foot, “is it getting so fuzzy again?”

“There’s rain in the sky,” the companion said. There was no rain.

Globes fell from her cheeks, and the worlds below felt the tremors of her feet.

they're dead

She lived in a field of peanuts and sesame flowers, and only came out when she smelled rain thick in the air. Today, rain closely hugged the sky, and ashes hung in mid-air. A flat grey stone stood underneath the rain, buried in green and white and grey.

// The comma after "flowers" is unnecessary since "She" is the subject of both "lived" and "came out."
// The comma after "Today" is unnecessary, but I can see how it helps the passage read well.
// The word choice in this opening passage isn't especially colorful, which I think aligns with the kind of muddled, dreary atmosphere you may be trying to create here.

“Good morning,” she said, absentmindedly.

// Comma after "said" is unnecessary and I personally feel the line reads better without it.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“It’s raining.” She looked up, and held out her hands. “There’s rain in the sky.”

// The comma. =) I won't note these types of instances anymore.

“Is that why you’re awake?”

The grey from above was smothering, and from time to time, it would give a little sob. Every time it sobbed, a corner of her heart crumbled and washed away in the rain.

“Maybe. I like the rain,” she said. She paused, and slowly added, “I think I like the smell of ashes, too. It means someone’s remembering me, once in a while, whenever they can. I wake up when I smell ashes. It means, ‘good morning!’ to me. Sometimes, I think that someone’s peering into my sleeping face and saying, ‘good morning, I remember you!’ as loudly and dumbly as they can.”

// The imagery is an interesting extension of what's presented in the opening. I'm commenting as I read so I hope implications such as the heart being vulnerable to the elements become connected or relevant. The dialogue gives the heroine a childlike air. Good mix of enlightenment and suspense as to her emotions/motivations.

“I’ll remember you,” the companion said earnestly, “even when there aren’t ashes.”

“I believe you.”

Rain and silence hung in the air, until a stray breath unsettled a fragment of ash from the sky. It floated into the peanut vines, alighting on a small white flower. It made a pretty picture—grey ash on white flower on grey stone. She smiled. Someone was crying and playing in the ashes, but she couldn’t see very far in the rain. She looked very carefully at the white of the flower instead. It was very important that she look very hard, although she couldn’t remember why. It looked very white.

// I really like the use of alight in a situation that speaks of light substances and colors. The suspense is fascinating, and I like how plain colors are consistently emphasized. I don't know if I like the use of "fragment" as the unit for ash as it implies a more brittle, solid nature than what I've been getting from all previous descriptions of it. You might want to explore more ways to describe rain, but that's your choice. So far the style is quite consistent.

“Remember to come out and play once in a while,” the companion pleaded. “I miss you. Grandfather hardly comes out and plays anymore.”

// I'm pretty sure you need a period after "while," but most people aren't strict about grammar in dialogue.

“He used to come out when we were young. Remember?”

“But we were different back then. Younger, and—”

“Is that how you remember it?” she asked sharply.

“Of course I remember. I’ll remember, always—don’t you trust me? Don’t you?”

“Don’t be dramatic, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I do remember, you know!”

// You might want to consider using some active verbs to spice up the dialogue. At this point the "companion" is pretty much a disembodied voice, so some verbs would be totally inappropriate. Although dialogue alone is revealing, readers may still be left guessing as to speakers' tones and attitudes.

“I believe you,” she said, and then she smiled. “I remember, too. Don’t you remember when Grandfather used to plant cucumbers, and mint, and tomatoes? Sometimes he had winter squash.”

// You could probably cut it down to "she said, then smiled."

“He built a little white fence around it, because he couldn’t keep the rabbits out.”

“Yes, wasn’t that nice?”

“But I liked the rabbits.”

“I did, too.”

“Where do you think they are now?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Probably dead. Like—”

“Don’t say it like that.”

The ashes were grey, and the sky was grey. She could barely see the ashes, but sometimes, they would glow in an imperceptible moment of orange before darkening forever. The ashes crumbled softly against the sesame flowers, but the crumbs quickly scattered into the air like startled birds.

// I'm a sucker for figurative imagery. The one that closed this paragraph was great. You might want to consider avoiding "imperceptible" since it clashes with the style in word choice used elsewhere. Perhaps a blink of orange? A flicker of orange?

“They think we’re crying, did you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“When it rains,” the companion said, holding out his hands and looking beyond the stone wall that enclosed the field, “they think that we’re sad. Sometimes they remember us when it rains, and so they burn things. Don’t you remember?”

// Here's simple, revealing imagery along with more subtle revelation that the companion is male. I don't quite see how "holding out his hands" is fitting in yet, though.

“Yes, yes, vaguely. It’s so hard to remember now.” She frowned. “What do they burn?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rabbits, maybe?”

“No, not rabbits. Something that would make us happy. I wouldn’t be happy if they burned rabbits.”

“Me neither.”

// That made me grin.

“I think it’s paper. Maybe homework, or phone bills, or something. I never did like homework.”

“You’re still young, after all!” she laughed, and rejoiced a little, though she wasn’t sure why.

“They burn it so that we can be happy again, and then it won’t rain anymore.”

“That’s silly. I certainly don’t know how the rain works.”

// Not quite sure what the heroine is implying by talking about her lack of knowledge of the rain.

“But they’re saying it now. ‘The rain stopped. He’s watching and He’s happy.’” He paused. “D—do you hear them? Do you?”

She hesitated. It had stopped raining. She suddenly thought that if she didn’t stand very, very still, she wouldn’t remember the feeling of cold water dripping down her cheek.

“You don’t, do you?”

She didn’t move. Rainwater collected at the curve of her jawbone, dripping onto the stone in large globes.

“Do you?”

Then she moved, slowly and carefully, but by then the globes were already gone.

“Well?”

// The juxtaposition of his worried questioning and her concentration on the memory of rain was very exciting. This passage definitely didn't need verbs from the speaker to get the job done.

“No, not anymore,” she finally admitted. She motioned towards the empty space around her, and gave a small smile. “I only smell the rain and the ashes, now. Not much more. But sometimes,” she added quickly (because he had turned towards her with such a look of anguish and fear and loss, and she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear it at all—), “Sometimes, I hear someone crying. I hear it in the rain.”

// His response seems awkward crammed into parentheses like that. I'm guessing he responded after "Not much more." Putting the response there may read more naturally. Also it's a bit jarring for the reader to be given intense, nonverbal emotion from him since he's offered mainly dialogue so far.

“Let’s listen.”

// I'm still a bit mystified as to whether his distress has been assuaged.

The two stood in the field of peanuts and sesame flowers, holding hands and holding their breaths as they listened to the stillness in the air. While they waited, the stone beneath their feet remembered their names, and they were grateful. It had stopped raining.

// I'm guessing you repeat that the raining is over in order to add finality. I feel that the rain was already shown off stage beautifully, so a reminder shouldn't be necessary.

“They love us,” the companion said at last, tears unraveling down his face in ashy ribbons. “I wish I could hear them, they love us so much.”

// I love the word choice here.

“Why, I can hear them loving us,” she declared, “and I swear I can see them sometimes, when the rain doesn’t come and make everything fuzzy. But why,” she asked, stomping her foot, “is it getting so fuzzy again?”

// I'm unsure if her first "Why" is actually inquisitive or merely an interjection. If it's inquisitive it's probably better off as a one word question. Also, you might not want her to be stomping her foot. I'm guessing she's either stomping or stomping with her foot.

“There’s rain in the sky,” the companion said. There was no rain.

Globes fell from her cheeks, and the worlds below felt the tremors of her feet.

// I like globes and worlds together. With globes already well-used to describe tears, you extrapolate a larger scale out of smaller details. It's unclear whether the tremors of her feet are actually her feet trembling or the shock waves caused by her aforesaid stomping.

// Good work. I'm still left with many questions but it's taken me so long to read and comment, and since I need to go now, by the time I look at this thread again my questions will probably be answered.