Spontanéité

Night Rain // short story

Dang, it's been so, SO long since I last updated this thing. What I've written here below is what I wrote for a creative writing unit I did last year (it's 2019 now and that is nuts). I've uploaded other things I wrote for that unit in here already, but this is the folio piece. It isn't anywhere near 'finished' and I intend to completely rework it one day, but here it is anyway.
***

Leif

Whoever painted this did a sloppy job. At least it seems that way at first look, first touch. Slapped, thrown, almost, recklessly displayed on brick now marked by layers of paint. Different colours, varying in vibrancy and hue. An ugly mishmash, really. All bold, all caps. Piled on top of each other, the letters spell out the same phrase beneath her fingertips.

SO LET THE RAIN FALL.

The lone figure in the street mouths the words, then lowers her hand. The distant clock face glows a pale, luminescent silver-blue. Even after noting the time on it, she looks down at her own watch. It's been over a year since the tower was hacked, but the habit has been retained. 21:53. She touches the paint again, noticing this time a deliberate splash between the S and O, and her eyebrows lift. That changes things. She turns on her heel and walks away.

If the street were any busier, or any closer to the city's core, a notif would have been put up by now. There'd have been cams fixed on that stretch of wall, scrutinising anything or anyone that happened to pass by it. Maybe there were cams already, just watching her. She wouldn't know. All week, she's been walking past this on her way home, and it's still here, bolder each day. They're dangerous words. A slow smile slips onto her lips as she lowers her head and turns the corner, eyes re-adjusting to the blinking lights and signs lining the old road.

REPAIRS, declares one, each glowing letter a different colour. Ironically, the second half of the word is hanging out of place. There's another one, sleeker, brighter, flashier. MIDNIGHT IS COMING, AND SO IS THE FUN. A grimace twists her features as she passes the open doors; someone inside hollers about the latest failed update (the Midnight) to the dome, cheered on by a sizeable crowd. Her pace quickens; she can't let herself get caught in that mess. Not now. RAIN gave her a definite warning the first time. At best, she'll be fired if they find out. More likely, she'll be exiled to one of the Earths. Like her parents were.

All the while, the phrase that's been haunting her for so long continues pulsing in her head. SO LET THE RAIN FALL.

She takes the circuit home, leaning back in the cold seat, still seeing the lights, even with her eyes closed. There are other people too, of course, most heading to watch the games. At least she assumes so, based on the colourful paraphernalia they carry; stuffed toys for the kids, luck-tokens for the many superstitious adults. She winces when one kid starts shrieking, his high-pitched companions joining in. They're excited, she guesses. But the finals won't be on tomorrow if the data gathered today is correct.

It's a temporary relief to get off and look up at the familiar block of cramped scrapers, littered roads and scruffy gardens of 'dead' plants that were never alive to begin with.

She steps into the lift, watch ping-ing when she reconnects it. Eight notifs, all saying the same thing. Leif, Gwen wants to know your location. Allow? Leif nods once, hand dropping back to her side as she heads out into the hallway. The lights are bright here, too. It's almost an obsession in this place. This whole planet, really. She shakes her head. Well, no. It's the norm, really; she's just a bit of an alien. She laughs silently at the thought, at the irony of being more alien than the Earthling currently in their apartment. As if she came from Earth-01 when she was seven, not Gwen.