Unfair Weather
It's a sort-of poem I wrote in the form of a short story.
"It's raining out."
"I'm sorry to hear that. The weather is pretty nice over here."
"Awesome."
I try to sound happy over the phone because I don't want him to know how afraid I am of getting struck by lightning, or even worse, never finding shelter. I don't want him to know that the rain is his fault, or that it rains harder whenever I talk to him. After all, I'd rather it rain harder while we talk then to have it be raining anyway with nobody to keep me company. "It's so warm out here" he says, and I can see him in my mind, basking in the warm glow. It starts to really come down, lightning striking the ground about a quarter mile ahead. I don't want him to worry, so I say "I have to go".
I walk blindly through the rain forever before I finally find shelter. It looks tiny and cramped from the outside, but inside it's actually quite cozy. It has dry wood, so I start a fire to warm myself by. He calls again, and I tell him how happy I am that I've found shelter. I almost forget about how I want to be the sun in his sky, or how nice it might be elsewhere. I'm dry, and that's all that matters to me right now.
It has only been a short while before I start to notice cracks forming in the ceiling, water dripping in and wetting some of the wood. I manage to save a few logs, but I am now running low. I call him this time to tell him how upset I am about the leaks. I couldn't bear to hear about his sunny days now that the rain is seeping in, and I wonder how long this shelter will last. It seems strong, but is made out of some sort of unstable material.
The fire is almost dead and no matter how much I fan it, it never seems to help. The cracks have gotten too wide and are now dripping on the open flame. _Hiss...hiss...hiss..._the sound reverberates inside of my head. He calls and hears this, asking me what it is. I say "it's nothing. Its fine." Lightning strikes just outside of the door. "Everything is great." Water starts to flow in from under the door, and tears well up in my eyes as I imagine how warm he must be. "The shelter is holding up well."