Random Text Message: Elaborated

In this mechanized metropolis there is no park. It is all grey and desolate and polluted. At the far end of the park there is a hopeful sight. Upon a bench four dusty corpses sit in a row. Each living their own death. Each waiting for a reward from their previous life. A flower bud struggles to reach high enough between their decay to bloom. Only a few more inches. Yet her neck is craned and her legs stretched all the way out already. It begins to rain...