Show me rain.
The woman walked across the street, violin in its case, yellow cabs streaking by. The rain fell and fell and fell and fell. She was pale, her coat pulled up over her bated breath that froze upon contact with the air, she was running, running for something or someone. Who knows who?
She made her way across the street, into the building, her hood collapsing behind her neck, her beanie stuffed into her pocket. Her rush was evident, as her body carried her up, up the stairs.
She burst into her room and lay upon her bed, weeping. Why? We do not know. For someone? Maybe. For something? Likely.
The rest of the world didn’t care. It just kept on raining.
Proabably the shortest piece of fiction I’ve ever done, but oh well, that’s it, that’s all I’ve got.
