All day the sky was clear, bright and blue and full of as much joy as an atmosphere can have. The only problem was that it didn't stay clear and as soon as I walked out of the library the sky fell. The black beast spit its rain down on me and the stack of books I was carrying.
When the first drop hit my nose I looked up and knew what would follow so I turned around and rushed back the library. That's when it got worse. It was like a hurricane had been summoned to my very location and the droplets of water started to seep into the thick paper of the expensive books i have just checked out. Somewhere in my heart I knew the doors would be locked, I had basically been escorted outside by a tired librarian who had just wanted to go home and feed her cats. What really stung, in addition to the fierce pelts from above, was seeing her back in the now foggy glass panel of the old screen door as she left. The poor woman wouldn't have time for my "shenanigans" as she had called them before so I rushed to the green awning of the building next door. The books were ruined and I was soaked, but at least I wouldn't have to wait in the rain. No lights were on, so the glass tall black glass was black as the clouds above me. assuming that meant the building was empty I sat down on the brick lip below the window, only a foot from the ground. It was only painful to set down the ruined books, ignoring them for fear of only worsening their condition if I were to open them. Instead, I sat, half on the makeshift seat, and stared at the droplets pattering onto the dark, cracked sidewalk and tried to come up with a plan for my next move. A loud noise from the alley broke my thinking and triggered my instincts. Surprising even myself with how quickly jumped up, I prepared for a fight. However the only sign of life I could make out from my vantage point was the shadow of a small animal. Then the sad creature stepped out of the total darkness and into the touches of the streetlight. If it weren't in such dire conditions, I would already be cooing at it. It trekked over into the dry patch under the awning and curled up its thinning frame. I wished I had brought anything for it, for it looked so small and weak. There was nothing I could even use to dry it off.
I decided that at least I had a companion. So, I sat down next, crossed my legs, and started talking. The animal just sat and listened to my story until the storm passed and my clothes were dry. Then, like a dream it got up and walked back into the shadows that had escaped the returning moonlight.
YOU ARE READING
The Anchor
Short StoryA collection of original short stories and poems. Most using extended metaphors and figurative language to express emotions. I apologize for any grammatical errors, feel free to kindly alert me in the comments.
