100-Word Fiction: ‘The Rains of the Spring’

The rains of spring have lasted a year. I hear that in some areas now there are only showers, or perhaps someone said light drizzle. It was always too optimistic to think the rains were seasonal. It would take a decade of downpours to drench this scorched earth.

But the rains come and come: wave after wave of them across from what once might have been a horizon. Now it is just a fog of tears and smoke. And endless deep.

The wet blows through the broken windows, seeps into the khaki, runs down my chest, pouring even as we sleep.

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Author: mwbewick

MW Bewick is a writer, journalist and musician, based in Wivenhoe and sometimes London. He is one half of Dunlin Press.

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