A Town Without Rain: a very short story

Maybe it was because it was the end of a long week and the fact that I had the entirety of next week off. Whatever the reason, I was in an especially goof mood. The smell of gasoline and the humidity in the damp air mixed to create a soothingly familar stench. I had known it all my life, in this dreary town. The sun rarely shown and even when it decided to show, our town’s inhabitants prefered to stay inside. This struck me as odd, but I never questioned it. Personal preference I suppose?

He nonchalantly slid in next to me in the seat, and I nervously scooted down as well, the side of my left arm bashing against the window in my haste. I cursed under my breath, and hoped desperately that he hadn’t heard me. It burned actually, and a throbbing, tingling sensation made its way up from the bottom of my elbow to my shoulder.

I diverted my attention to the dark atmosphere outside. Rain fell steadily, as it had always done. It was comforting to me, partially because its movements and partially of the memories attached to this town and its consistently wet weather patterns. Honestly I don’t think I can remember a day when it wasn’t that way. Why would I want to?

It made me wonder if others took notice of it. I dismissed this question immediately, and scolded myself for foolish thoughts. It was all they had ever known after all! Indeed I would be the same, if it weren’t for the stories. SO many tales I had heard of the outside world, where the weather was supposedly bright and cheery. This concept was so foreign and outrageous that I would not have believed it. Expcept my father had been the one to relay his experience with it first hand to me. And he never lied.

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