Writing Prompt Stories (And Other Things)

0.03

He woke up to the sound of the rain.

The city drowned in the relentless rain, the raindrops beating a tattoo onto the roofs of buildings and concealing the lights of windows behind a sheet of watery silver. The clouds above congealed into a thick blanket that hid the sun and the moon, until the people forgot what day it was and washed their sorrows away under the guise of alcohol and dancing.

But the man didn't want to forget the sadness. For him, it was the only thing that kept his sanity in a world where the rain and the party never ceased or began. For him, the sorrow was the last string that held him to the remnants of humanity, the last one that had not been swept away by the tidal wave that was the relentless, never-ending, rain.

Outside the stillness of his room, he could hear the faint strains of the party, voices laughing and singing over the rain that pounded against the windows. The clinking of glasses, as bittersweet as a raindrop hitting water. He had grown up to that sound, but now he wanted to forget it.

He opened the door.

They drank champagne and flaunted vibrant clothes that clung to them like a second skin, drenched in the rain that had become so intertwined in their lives that it was like a companion now. He knew that if the rain stopped, they would be lost in a delusion they had trapped themselves in. Laughter filled the room, like an audio clip stuck on replay, over and over again. It grated against his ears like nails on a chalkboard. Another constant in his life he wouldn't miss.

He walked through the crowd, silence amidst the chaos, but the party never stopped to notice the shadow that flitted between the drapes of beautiful clothes. Flashes of pale faces lit up in psychotic joy flickered in the light that poured from overhead, but the man wasn't scared. These people were nothing more than husks of what they could've been, but the rain had ruined them. The rain had ruined everyone. Everyone but him.

The balcony was slick with water, which glinted beneath the strings of light strung on the railings. The man looked over the edge, into the looming darkness where the rain fell and disappeared into the abyss. Soon, he would fall. And when he did, the rain would stop.

As his hand gripped the smooth metal of the railing, the door behind him opened. Golden light poured onto the balcony, and a beautiful woman stepped out. Her lips moved silently in the cacophony of rain and thunder, and a delicate hand reached out to him. Nestled in her palm was a small white pill, its surface wet from the onslaught of rain.

The man took it.

...

He woke up to the sound of the rain.