It's been raining nonstop for the last month and a half. Wherever he went, it followed him. His clothes were soaked through the last string, his shoes squelched with water, his hair was constantly dripping into his eyes.
It wasn't anything obvious, like a cloud over his head. It was just raindrops pelting his skin like a thousand pine needles, wrinkling the pads of his fingers and clouding his vision.
His apartment floor was covered with an inch of water, reaching to his ankles. The bed was a sappy mess. The curtains drooped heavily. The ink was long washed off the crumbling pastry-like paper. Pencils, shoes, pistachio shells, among other things, floated around, turning the water a murky gray.
He choose to ignore it all, pretend like everything was still okay. He ate the soggy food, took showers, and slept on his (water)bed, even though now he sometimes woke up drowning, gasping for air as water gurgled in his lungs.
He was getting sick, if the increasing moist coughs were anything to go by.
The other day he spotted a faint green mold scratching up the corner of a wall. There was a constant smell of dampness lingering in the heavy air.
And since she'd been gone, he's learned to live with it.
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anomalies and lies
General Fictiona·nom·a·ly (noun) : something that deviates from what is standard, normal, or expected.
