Day 6 – When the Rain Came

It started sometime after midnight, a faint tapping on the skylight above the bar.
At first I thought it was rats again. Then I saw it streaking down the window, silver lines cutting through the grime.

Rain.
Real rain.

The sound filled the whole pub. Every drip, every gutter overflow. The roof groaned where the water found cracks, trickling through into pint glasses I’d left to catch dust. The ash outside turned to grey soup and ran along Lord Street like spilled paint.

I stepped out under the porch just to feel it. Cold. Heavy. The kind that soaks you in seconds.
The air smelled cleaner, but somehow worse, wet rot, fuel, and something sweet beneath it all.

Somewhere down the road a sign was banging in the wind. It kept perfect rhythm with the thunder, like the town had found its heartbeat again.
Then, for a second, I thought I saw a figure standing by the taxi rank, tall, still, facing the rain. When I blinked, it was gone.

I went back inside and shut the door. The dripping hasn’t stopped.
I keep thinking it’s footsteps.

Keith