COLD RAIN

CHAPTER 1

Pon dreamed again.

It was still illogical scattered fragments, shrouded in an ash grey mist, reminding him that this was a long, long time ago.

If he looked around, there was a somewhat empty bedroom with two pillows placed side by side on the bed and a crooked Doraemon doll on the left smiling, pale and decadent under the direct light of the bedside lamp.

His gaze inadvertently swept across a glass of steaming hot water on the table.

In his dream, his body got up one step ahead of his consciousness and made him walk out.

The door opened with a bang.

What greeted him was not a sunny morning but a stormy midnight.

Far away, skyscrapers, grass and the night sky distorted and merged into a thick darkness.

When he turned around, the door was gone. He had nowhere to go and he didn't know where to go.

He didn't dare to sit still, so he had to walk towards the neon lights in the distance.

The picture in front of him shook with the rhythm of his footsteps. He was sure he hadn't blinked and yet the wavering points of light submerged into the fog, disappearing little by little. But he still couldn't stop.

He heard a voice from behind.

Someone was chasing him, trying to step on his shadow and crush his spine.

The road under his feet had also become steep and difficult to walk. The dark shadow sometimes floated by his side and sometimes above his head.

It was like vines wrapping around his body tightly, or like snakes touching his back with its tongues.
It was difficult to breathe and his chest was sore. When the last discernible ray of light in front of him was also swallowed by the darkness, he slipped and fell to the ground.

Biting cold came before the pain. The cold penetrated his heart and his inner organs through the pores of his whole body. Between the huge heaven and earth, the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The black clouds overwhelmed him and he was almost engulfed in darkness.

With the last bit of his strength, he raised his head and looked around.

There was no one coming from behind and no one coming from the front. The only sound that reminded him of his isolation was the triumphant laughter that hovered in the air.

No one would come to save him.

At 4:30 in the morning, Pon pushed away the quilt and sat on the bed for a few minutes before his brain regained control over his limbs.

He slowly got out of bed, put on his slippers and walked downstairs.

His footsteps had always been very light; he had never even alarmed the birds perching on the eaves of the house outside the window.

He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of cold water.

After taking two sips, he felt a faint pain in his stomach. Only then did he remember that there were many physical problems with this body.

He needed a quilt in late summer and early autumn because of his weak physique.

As soon as he caught a cold, a fever or a flu would follow.

He poured the water again to boil it. After washing up, Pon had nothing to do.

He sat at the dining table with his head propped up by his hands, dazed by the humming of the kettle.