RainClouds imperceivably tall and wide veil the moon and stars from sight. Rolling, seething within and without one another, plotting for turmoil to descend upon the mirrored obscurity; a chilling, forlorn wind whispers secrets the sky would rather wait to reveal. Words preconscious — scolding the cobblestone laid wide, a cruel caressing of the street-chasm. Emptiness. Vast, open darkness. Not a single light from a window. Will-o’-the-wisps. Only staggered orbs of lamp-flame provide waypoints on the street.Rain8 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Footfalls fall silent. Left, right. Left, right, one after the other, metronomes contemplative in their pendulum arcs. Pressing forward, past buildings, across intersections… Drip. Pause, looking around. Emptiness. Wind grows, buffets, and begins to sing a song of ghosts. Drip. Of course there’s no one out; the sun had long since left. With reluctance, begin moving again, each step laden with regret.