One Rainy Day / Anastasia Fermin

Title : One Rainy Day

It was another rainy day in a dreary old town. A young man, Dante trudged down the street, head down, shoulders hunched, soaked to the bone, walking slowly towards nowhere in particular. He walked past a group of raincoat clad children, laughing and stomping puddles in their wellingtons. For a split second, he envied them. He could hardly remember his own childhood, most of it he'd tucked away in secret dark alcoves in the back of his mind. Yet, he could vaguely recall the feeling of sheer pleasure that splashing muddy puddles often brought to the gay heart of a child. He walked on, past familiar shops with familiar faces going in and out of them, waving; smiling faces of people he was sure to never cross paths with again because on that rainy day he was going away...
He found himself at the bridge looking down into what seemed like a swirling abyss, a deep violet rising up violently, reaching for him. "Come let us touch you," the thrashing murky water hissed, "Let us hold you, keep you, we want you." He stepped back, heart pounding. He had to have imagined that. It was the wind, and the icy sheets of rain pouring down, whizzing past his ears. He pulled the soggy hood of his jacket over his head. Somewhere, back the way he'd walked from a shop alarm went off, it's shrill squeal muffled by the fog that began to settle and the bass roar of thunder that stretched on for miles.
Dante shivered now, a cold chill randomly settled on his skin and he felt a little woozy. He stumbled forward and leaned against the short brick wall of the bridge. Maybe drinking vodka for breakfast was not such a good idea. Especially since he'd never done it before, he was probably the only 20 year old in town that wasn't on drugs or an alcoholic. He hated the town, its dark grey gloom that lingered even when the sun was out in full force, a rare event nowadays and he had to get out before the gloom pulled him in too far deep. He looked up at the grey sky, not a even sliver of blue to be found. He then closed his eyes against the rain and drifted into thought, pulling his most prized possession, a gold locket that his grandparents gave him on his first birthday out of his pocket, enjoying the warmth it exuded despite the frigid weather. Somewhere between revisiting the writing of his goodbye letter to his mother (who was sure to cry for nights on end after reading it and he felt heartbroken to break her heart like that) and giving Rufus the Lab a good firm hug (as he wagged his tail and licked Dante's ear), he shoved off the wall and turned to walk again. He could have sworn the river was laughing at him now; teasing and bone chilling laughter that made him shudder.
Thunder filled the air once more and there was a nuclear bright flash in the sky. Suddenly the air was filled with activity. Dante heard the faint pitter patter of running feet , the crash of waves against the banks of the river as it swelled over, the distant cackle of geese and the smell of burning iron. He heard a muted bang, like a car backfiring or....a gunshot and before he knew it, pain seared through his chest. Gasping in horror, he felt warm blood trickling out of his wound, unto his hands as he clutched at his chest. The young man sunk to his knees, dropping his duffel bag, and fell back against the cold hard pavement.
The sheriff ran up to the black clad youth. "We got him!" he yelled. The deputy dived out of the squad car and joined his colleague; rain pouring off the brim of his hat. What he saw made his knees buckle. Lying lifeless on the ground was a familiar young man. He edged closer, and knelt beside the boy, who was not breathing and in his hand, he clutched something. The deputy watched as his fingers uncurled as his body grew limp, to reveal a small gold locket with a "D" carved on it. Realization dawned on him. "You gotta radio ambulance support, Ed! Now!" he screamed at the sheriff who stood in awe. He'd shot the deputy's son. Something green and blue stuck out of the wounded boy's jacket pocket, a piece of paper, the deputy pulled it out further....bus itinerary. He reached frantically for the forlorn duffel bag and almost ripped it apart, it was filled with clothing. "No!" he yelled. A sob escaped the deputy, his warm tears mingling with the icy raindrops.
Below the bridge, a man in black edged slowly across the muddy bank, gripping a bag against him, he took a deep breath and made a run for the woods, cloaked by the fog, he escaped.