So, the idea for this short story came to me pretty suddenly. There was no planning, no brainstorming, nothing. I couldn't sleep one night, and my mind kept racing; it kept telling me to write something, anything. So I did. I sat down, pulled out my laptop, and put a story together. I was happy enough with it that I went to sleep. Sometime later, I found myself wanting to sharpen it up and post it. That's what the finished product is: that sharpened-up version. Read the first part of this story if you haven't already!
The original version that I wrote is down below:
The air was wet. You could taste it; you could feel it. The pitter-patter of rain sounded against the metal roof. It wasn't loud, but the sound seemed to bounce off the walls of the tiny room.
A man sat in the corner, his eyes glued to a large window, the only source of light in the room. Windows are transparent, but he didn't look past his own reflection. He had slightly overgrown curly blonde hair, tired, hazel eyes, light facial hair, and a blank expression. He didn't blink. His slightly narrowed eyes never left that window--never left his reflection.
There was a desk only a few feet away, yet he sat on the floor, staring, stubborn until finally, his eyes closed.
"Am I to count every raindrop?"
His hand moved to the cold glass pane. The chill moved up his arm. Little bumps formed on his neck as the feeling spread down his back. It stifled his breaths.
"The sound of rain is the sound of forgotten death."
His eyes opened, but his gaze stretched out. It went past the reflection. A sea of buildings stood in his sights.
"The sound of forgotten death calms me," he whispered, barely audible.
The further he looked, the less he saw. The buildings began to blend together. They became the city. The City was alive, just as much as the people in it. It breathed, it sang, it cried. The sounds all came at once.
The cars. The buzzing of lights. The distant music. Footsteps. A loud crash. A deafening boom.
The air was wet, and so was the floor. The rain this time would be crimson, and that loud pitter-patter would be fleeing footsteps.
"The sound of rain is the sound of forgotten death."
Thank you so much for reading!
Stay tuned for more stories like this to come.
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The Sound of Rain
Cerita PendekA mysterious man sits alone, ragged and weathered from hiding himself away. Most Impressive Ranking: #112 in Shortstories Cool Ranking: #5 in Symbolism Thank you to everyone who's read. It's made me so happy to see this do well!
