George knelt on the sofa, staring out of the window, his toy train forgotten about at the first splash of raindrops.
“Lot lot rain,” he announced.
Fiona nodded, ruffling her nephew’s hair. “Yes. Lots of rain.”
There was a rumble of thunder. George’s eyes grew wide. “What that noise?”
“Thunder.” Fiona got his attention and made the sign for thunder. Their family had been using Baby Sign alongside verbal language for almost as long as it had been invented, a simplified version of sign language with a small core vocabulary and some signs modified to make it easier for children’s hands to copy. “You remember thunder.”
George nodded. “Storm.”
They watched the rain for a while until it began to ease.
“Mama wet?” George asked. His mother had taken his older brother to a birthday party and so Fiona shook her head.
“They’ll be inside now, with the birthday boy.”
“When my birthday?”
Fiona smiled. “Not until April.”
“I have birthday party,” George said in a tone suggested this was inevitable.
“If mum and dad say you can.” Fiona was not about to take the blame for agreeing to a party for a bunch of under-fours and the associated cost and chaos. “I think the rain’s stopping.”
George nodded and slid off the sofa. He ran out to the hallway and came back with his Wellington boots. “Feefee, I want play in puddles!”
Fiona nodded, having expected this the moment the sky had darkened. “We need to put our coats on but yes, we can go outside.”
“Hoo-ray,” George cheered, the way he always did, two distinct syllables. “Puddles!” He jumped up and down as if he was already splashing about in the wet.
As she watched George jump all around the garden, laughing and playing, Fiona almost wished she’d bought her own boots so she could join in. She settled for the vicarious pleasure of enjoying George being carefree, revelling in the aftermath of the rain.
Double drabble (200 words). On a wet night a man approaches the meeting point. For this month’s prompt ‘rain’.
The rain hammered against his black umbrella as he walked toward the streetlight, the collar of his jacket pulled up, his footfalls splashing rainwater onto his polished oxford shoes.
He slowed his pace; it wouldn’t do to hang about too long on a night like this, far from a pub or café, taxi rank or bus stop. It would draw suspicion. Thankfully he spotted his contact approaching, a tall man in blue baseball cap with a green puffer jacket left unzipped, and they reached the designated meeting point together.
The handover was smooth, the small brown envelope passed into his free hand without either man breaking stride. He tucked the envelope into his pocket and continued on his way, taking a convoluted route back to his car, parked half a mile away.
There was a low rumble of thunder and he thought of his half-brother’s cosy suburban home and mundane but well-paid office job. Not the life he’d chosen nor would want for himself but sometimes the waiting, the cold or the heat, the snow or the rain, made the idea of such domesticity desirable and he pondered the wisdom of his profession.
An exact drabble (100 words) for #writingwednesday.
The rain didn’t come on Monday. He filled the watering can and watered the flowers, herbs, and vegetables.
The rain didn’t come on Tuesday. After watering, he filled up the bird bath. A sparrow soon came for a tiny sip.
The rain didn’t come on Wednesday. The south-easterly wind pushed the clouds away, leaving only sweltering heat. The grass was turning brown, and even the hardy wildflowers in the wild corner of the garden were beginning to wilt.
The rain came on Friday, finally, just as he began filling the watering can.
3 more 3 sentence fics, all based on my current WiPs.
Romaine’s job meant he didn’t feel he had the time to devote to a pet, though he had put word around that he owned a dog. This was to assure anyone seeing him in Wolf form that it was just their quiet neighbour’s pet, and to explain any ‘dog fur’ on his clothes. Being your own pet was a good option for a shapeshifter.
Bryony had never been afraid of storms. Now she embraced them. She was the eye of the storm, the centre of the maelstrom, the weaver of the wind, mistress of the rain, and it was glorious.
A drink in his hand, the moon above him, the memory of the pleasant evening meal he’d shared with his closest friends – his family. Sean had a vocation and purpose; was loving and loved. What more could one want?
Another scheduled post on the theme of 3 sentence fics for #writingwednesday! Hope you’re having a good one!
“When I said less drama, more llama, I meant it in the metaphorical sense.”
“So I didn’t expect to come home to find a llama grazing in the garden!”
Over the concrete promenade, up the rough cut steps, following the steeper trail up the hill. Pause at the crest to watch the sun as it dips into the ocean. Welcome the sea breeze caresses as the day turns into night.
“What noise do ducks make?” she asked the toddler who was clutching her finger in his fist as they stood at the edge of the water.
The nearby mallard gave her a sideways glance and said, “Meow.”
The happy couples moved around the dance floor and he watched, enjoying the music.
“Dance with me?” Ben asked, holding out one hand.
He hesitated only a moment before accepting, letting Ben hold him close as they swayed to the melody, ignoring what anyone else in his family might think.
“Ben’s cute,” she said, nudging her brother as they took the air outside, his jacket draped around her shoulder. She smiled, adding, “I think we share the same taste in men.”
He laughed, relieved at her easy acceptance of this part of his life, and said, “He’s mine, sis!”
“Why are you laughing when I have you both at my mercy?” the villain asked, frowning, while the resistance leader, in chains next to the laughing man, was just as perplexed.
The anti-hero lifted his now free hands, a blade clutched in one, saying, “You don’t know me but I know how, after your adviser hired me to carry out an assassination, you ordered my murder. I survived and joined the resistance, let us get captured for this opportunity, the moment I finally take my revenge.”
For #writingwednesday another fic snippet for this month’s theme, focussing on WiP:WRE and the relationship between friends and colleagues, El and Romaine.
El savoured the mouthful of pancake, swallowed. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Romaine nodded. “Go on, then.”
“Why do we live in separate flats when we spend so much time in each other’s places?”
Romaine chewed slowly, surprised by the question.
“It would save on the rent,” El said. “If we moved in together.”
He swallowed. “There’s only one bedroom.”
“I didn’t mean here,” El said, gesturing. “There’s not room for both of our stuff in one of these flats, not with my clothes and coffee table and your desk.”
“And only one bed,” Romaine repeated.
“That too,” El said as if it was the least of her concerns. “We’d have to look for somewhere else, a two bedroom place. Maybe three, so we could have a home office, somewhere to put the desk and our books and things.”
Romaine cut another pancake up into bitesize pieces. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
El nodded. “I guess I’d like it if we moved in together. I mean we spend most of our time together anyway.”
“Isn’t that a concern? Don’t you ever come home from work and need alone time?”
She shrugged. “We spend more time together after work than alone. And it feels like alone time. Or something. I don’t feel you’re someone I have to stress about being with.”
While the words were coming out odd, he understood what she meant and he was touched. If he stopped to think about it, he felt the same way. Being with El wasn’t like being with other colleagues or going to a party. It was soothing and he missed her when she wasn’t there.
“And sometimes you go out or I’m out,” El said, “and we’ll have our own bedrooms to go sit in if we need quiet time. What do you think?”
Romaine let out a long exhale. At least she’d acknowledged the need for multiple bedrooms. “I think I need to think about it more.”
“Okay.” El got up to pour more coffee. “At least it’s not an outright no.”