Dark closes in with unseen clouds shedding their burden. Tears wink in the lamplight and play out their symphony around me. The air feels colder with the wet, wet rain. And you wonder when it will stop. Later, as the day nears its zenith and the grey overhead pales, clouds thin and brake, and limp white-blue peers above the rim of a quiet weather front. The rain stops. Puddles ripple in the wind and an autumnal sun glares down. Later, water will slip away…


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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