Rain, Rain...

So I came across something I had started writing back in the summer and I thought I'd share and expand upon it. It's not on a topic or anything; it's just simple creative writing at work. Embrace it and deal with it.

Tempest

The rain pattered petals of watery lust upon the windows. Each drop that fell craved for the space and room to fall and slide as it pleased. It moaned as it fell into puddles on the wooden deck; the creaking of the board delighting in its own release. Oblivious to the symphonic sex of the thunderstorm overhead, she sat under the gray umbrella taking drags from a Marlboro lite cigarette that had been smoked down to the butt. Her eyes milky white with cataracts saw nothing but shadows and blurs, and the occasional whip of movement from the willow tree on the lawn; the branches lashing out like angry whips at the backs of traitors.

On this night, the clearest thing she could see was the glowing ash from her cigarette, burning red and dimming slowly until it went out. "That was my last one too," she coughed out in a harsh smokers voice. Grabbing a tissue from her dampened coat pocket, she placed her parched lips to it and spat. As the storm reached its climax, she put away her umbrella, walked across the bare, puddled lawn, and reached her arms out to the heavens, waiting for something, anything to happen. The only thing that would get its way that night was the storm as it sighed in pleasure and the lady sat crying in the mud, tears falling like the storm itself.

So there you go, a little bouquet for your fiction pallet. See you tomorrow. (I'm on a role!)

(listening to "Look Up"~~Stars "So far keeping it together's been enough, but look up: the rain is falling, looks like love...)