The Shape of Goats

Heavy Rain

"God bless you sir!" shouted the homeless man to Lincoln, who walked away as quickly as he could. Hiding inside the pocket of a ten pounds coat, there was his left hand, holding onto his miserably light wallet.

"I wish God had blessed me..." murmured Lincoln and bit his dry lips. The poor man had followed him for fifteen long minutes, constantly asking for money. Frustrated, Lincoln gave him everything he had: a brand new five pounds note. How unfortunate.

Stopping at Walt, his favourite coffee shop, he looked inside, trying to find Liah. She was still working, serving an old couple their iced mocha. He knocked on the glass twice. The first knock diverted the customers' attention towards him. Awkward. The second knock, reached Liah's ears. She waved at him and showed him her palm. Five minutes.

He looked around to kill time, his eyes evading the baffled gazes of the customers.

Awkward.

Finally, after what felt like half an hour, Liah came out holding two cups of hot chocolate. She began talking about the old man asking for iced mocha in the middle of the freezing winter. Her eyes were beaming with childish enthusiasm. How it was possible to become so excited from the mundane was a mystery for Lincoln.

He glanced at her hands a few times until she gave him one of the cups. His lips stretched into a big smile. But after the first sip, his burnt tongue refused to touch the hot chocolate again.

The two of them walked into a small park in the area and they both shivered as their bodies touched the frozen benches.

"This winter must be one of the coldest ever..." said Lincoln.

"Oh Link! This because now you are way cooler than before!" she chuckled and punched him lightly on his shoulders. He smiled. What a horrible pun. Yet, for some reason, he had always been captivated by her attempts to be funny.

You are so hot that you're able to turn winter into summer wanted to say Lincoln. Just the thought of it made him cringe. So he just sat on the bench quietly, enjoying the vapours diving out of their mouths, and appreciating careful sips of the now cold hot chocolate. Attentively, He listened to everything that Liah had to say, from gossips about her friends to the disagreements she had with her boss that morning.

***

"It's getting dark" sighed Lincoln, "I think I should start going."

Before leaving, she gently kissed Lincoln on the lips. They exchanged gazes, staring at each other for a moment, taking away as much as possible of the other, to keep it for the night to come.

"You should come over to my place, sometime," said Liah.

Lincoln nodded and kissed her one more time before leaving.

A couple of plastic bags ran away, scared by the howling of the wind. While fixing his scarf and hood, Lincoln accelerated towards home. The sky, was a vast field of grey wet sponges.

"Please don't rain, please don't rain, please don't rain..." repeated Lincoln until he convinced himself that it wasn't going to rain.

A drop of water fell on his nose. Irritated, he took shelter in front of a supermarket and in a couple of minutes, the dark sponges began releasing everything they were holding in. The heavy rain drummed all around putting the city noises to shame.

An old man distributing newspapers approached him complaining about the weather, "Sometimes, I just feel like leaving this country. Would love to go somewhere nicer. Italy maybe, Greece or Spain even. Do me a favour boy, will ya take this last newspaper please?"

Lincoln accepted, and watched the old man disappear in the cascade of water.

The rain wasn't slowing down. Having nothing else to do, he opened the newspaper. Pieces of an infant were found in bowls inside the canteen of a local school. His heart sank. Did the killing start again? He scanned the article numerous times, trying to find the famous message the serial killer used to leave behind. However, he found a different message.

"What is Barbara Turner?" read aloud Lincoln.

The sound and the smell of car brakes, grabbed his attention. A thick mantle of fog engulfed everything in front of him.

All of his hopes for an improvement washed away by the louder and heavier downpour. Clenching his jaws, he was out of the store, rushing home. But soon after, he found himself going in a complete different direction intrigued by the sound of horns and drivers yelling at each other. He had never seen a congestion of that extent: lanes and footpaths made invisible by the large number of vehicles. The backlights of cars shone through the mist from far. Curious, he followed the mass of people to find out the source of the traffic.

The more he walked, the heavier his coat became. Several times he regretted the decision, but once he was fully drenched, he moved forward more willingly, having nothing to lose.

The fog was starting to disappear. The air was beginning to smell of iron. Voices blared in front of him. Lincoln's eyes lustred a little, and he smirked realising he had arrived to the source of the congestion. His boots sped him to the voices, splashing drops of mud and water all over the place.

The fog was gone.

The rain was falling, heavier than before. The smell of iron was stronger.

In front of a row of cars there were hundreds of people standing astonished, excited and terrified. Lincoln pushed his way to the front line. Shops, houses and skyscrapers were bent abnormally, pointing towards the public. The stench of rotten meat, dripping out of the buildings, with scarlet red water, climbed up to Lincoln's nostrils. He coughed at first. But eventually, he found himself puking on the floor. He wasn't the only one though. In an attempt of avoiding the horrid smell, he looked up. That was the first time his eyes met the fresh rain.

The fresh, scarlet red, rain.