The Raft

"It's still raining." Her soft voice barely made an impact over the constant sound of rain on the roof overhead.

"Of course it's still raining."

"But it has to stop raining some day right?" She was still hopeful. She pulled back the string on the blinds to look outside. It was consistently dark, it made the water look black. A permanent stream of water replaced the roads, and everything that wasn't at least two stories tall disappeared from view. Soon, everyone would need to move up to the third stories to be safe from the flooding.

"It doesn't have to." He hardly even moved. He just watched whatever movies he could find all day long.

"We should make a boat."

"That's stupid."

"If we make a boat, we could find where it's not raining. Come on let's go."

"If there's a place where it's not raining, then it's probably already crowded with people who had the same idea."

She grumbled and paced around the room some more. "I think I'm gonna go outside for a bit."

"Don't go too far."

She slid into a poncho and climbed the stairs to the roof of the house. The sound of the rain blocked out any other noise. It pounded against the roof, splashed into the streams, rattled the windows. The clouds above were so thick if she didn't have a watch she wouldn't know the sun was supposed to be out. The water looked like a flow of oil or ink pouring down the hill. Nobody else was out. Not that she could really see very far in the darkness, but she knew from the silence, from the stillness that no one remotely near her ever came outside. She was either the only one, or the last one.

She stepped back inside and hung the poncho up to dry. "I think we should make a boat, and see where the river takes us."

For the first time in weeks, he looked up at her. "Are you crazy? We could die!"

"What's the difference if we're not even living? We can survive forever, we've proven that. But are we living? What are we doing here?"

He stayed quiet.

"We need to leave, and if you aren't coming with me, I'll go alone."

"We can't leave... This is the only place where we're safe."

"If we can't, then I will. I'll be on the roof, building my boat." She marched back upstairs. The last he ever heard from her was the door shutting, once again blocking out all the sounds of the rain.

The Future of Resident Resi

I don't really have much to write about tonight, but I was thinking of picking one of my previous storyline posts and continuing it. Unfortunately, I can't really pick which one I should do. So I might over the next week or two try posting little continuations of each of them to see which ones work out the best. If any of my followers have any suggestions, I'd be happy to accommodate them by continuing whichever ones show up on in the comments. ^^ So thanks for your support, and expect to see a lot more fiction writing and fewer musings in the future.

The Elephant in the Room

James was smoking on the balcony when Mike got home. Normally, when James went out to his "social events" he was out much later. Mike lit up a cigarette and stood next to him. "Hey, how was the party?"

James' eyes widened as he ran his hand through his hair. "On a scale of one to ten, about how crazy do you think I am?"

Mike laughed at first, but James was serious, so he decided to reply a little more carefully than he normally would. "Uh... I guess like a four or something. You're pretty down to Earth."

James took a deep drag and let out the smoke slowly. "If I said there was an elephant in the room, would you think I was crazy?"

Mike knew that James wasn't drunk. It almost looked like a drink would sober him up. "Do you mean like the expression?"

"No like a literal 10 ton elephant standing in the middle of the ball room that no one even acknowledged. Not metaphorically, not an expression, a giant elephant literally standing there."

Before Mike could even say anything, James continued, "No, not a stuffed elephant, not a picture or sculpture, a living breathing elephant."

This time, Mike took a long breath from his cigarette. "At this party you were at?" James nodded. "Did anyone else say anything about it?"

"Not a word."

"Did you ask anyone about it?"

"I couldn't. I was stunned speechless. There were a lot of people there I respected, my frickin' hero was at that party. I tried to get people to look in that direction, just to see if they were fuckin' with me, but not one reacted to it, even when facing it. Just before I was about to run over there and try to touch it, I left. I couldn't handle it anymore."

"The party's probably still going on, I could go with you."

"No way. If we went, and you didn't notice it, that four would be a 15. I'm happy where I am."

"If you say so." Mike flicked his cigarette off the balcony and walked inside.

Catalyst

The room was perfectly serene, just as he had left it. Slate gray walls, a cherry wood dresser, a four post bed dressed with deep blue bedding, with a young woman resting. Every day, he took great care not to disrupt a single detail while cleaning. Leaving a single imprint from the outside world could corrupt the complete isolation he had worked so hard to preserve. The girl was now 18. For 15 years he had been her caretaker, told never to let the outside world corrupt her. She was a young adult now, but it was still vital she never learn of the outside world. He had finished cleaning, and she started to stir. He smiled, waiting for her to come to.

"Good morning, Catalina."

The girl sat up letting the covers bunch around her. She yawned and rubbed her eyes and looked closely at the mysterious man, the stranger that was always there for her. Everything she ever needed was somehow provided by this man. "Why do you say good morning when you come in sometimes, and good afternoon or evening other times?"

He coughed. Catalina wasn't frequently curious these days. She hadn't been for quite some time. More intriguing was how neat the question was. She very rarely ever spoke. It was a surprise to hear just how good she had become at English by simply listening. "It's how I know what to bring and what to clean. Have you noticed that when I say morning, what I bring is different from when I say afternoon?"

She nodded, once again mimicking actions he typically used. It was clear she didn't intend to say anything.

"Very good. Now eat up."

She nodded again and began eating, watching as he exited the room. She had just finished her last grape when the door opened again. The new stranger came back again. She smiled, always excited to hear what this new man had to say.

"Good morning Catalina. Did I miss anything?"

She shook her head.

He chuckled. "I know, there's never anything to miss. Have you been keeping me a secret?"

She nodded excitedly. "Will you tell me more?"

"Of course, of course. It's why I'm here." He spends the next hour telling her yesterday's news. She was always intrigued by the concept of other people in the world. That they would fight and laugh and play. That they would do things so great for each other, but then do so many awful things. By the end of their hour together he asked, "Wouldn't it be fun if Taylor got that job she wanted, even if it meant that Amy wouldn't get it?"

"I always liked Taylor. I think she should get the job. But what about Amy?"

"Amy will just have to move out again I think."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

They waved goodbye and Catalina's mysterious friend was gone again.

Outside, he lifted a phone to his ear, "Hey Taylor. I think you're gonna get that job. And that girl you hate. She's gonna be out of there soon too."

Yes, it's a Valentine's Day post

Now I know of the like five or six followers of this blog I have, not one of them really cares about Valentine's Day. I figured at the very least I could spare a few minutes to talk about something that rakes in millions in sales every year. As adults, it has a lot of meanings. Raunchy sex, remembering to buy flowers, and raunchy sex. But think back to when you were a kid, and sex wasn't even a thing. Valentine's Day was kind of a purer thing. There were little paper slips that you passed around to all of your friends, and you hoped you could somehow give it to that one special person. Back when I was in school it became mandatory to give to all of your classmates, so it took away that difficulty. You just had to somehow make that one special Valentine card and hope that they realized that it was different from the rest. I mean, the alternative was to actually express your feelings in a direct manner, and we all know that's not gonna happen in third or fourth grade. That energy that builds from handing over the Valentine's card is probably the strongest memory of pure emotion that I have. Nothing was indecent or lewd about it. There was a girl on the other side of the room that made you smile. You placed a card in the little mailbox and that's all there was. No matter how unlikely the pairing, the heartfelt meaning behind that Valentine was pure. I'm 26 now, and thinking back to those days I can't help but feel mislead. I can see the whole of Valentine's Day now and I think, where did it all go? I don't want an entire night of insane sex. I want to see my favorite girl smile. I know I may be in the minority, but still, you can have insane sex any night you want. You can eat a fancy restaurant, any night you want. But Valentine's Day is one day a year, and you should be trying to make your girl smile everyday. It shouldn't be a reminder that you are a couple. It should be a reminder of when you were one person, and she was another, and the only thing that mattered was making each other smile.

Wish - Late

"It started with a dream I had," she said quietly to the bartender. Her fingers traced a line in the counter top. "Something made it unusually vivid. It was probably just painkillers, but I felt nothing. There was... nothing to feel. I knew that there was no hope or relief, no end of the tunnel or shining light. Though there was nothing, every direction I pressed, I felt resistance, like invisible walls. I woke up that morning and that feeling, or the lack of feeling crept into my soul. I can't describe it any more than crippling depression, despite how cliche that sounds."

The old man filled a tall glass with whiskey and slid it over to the last patron in the bar. She sighed, took a sip, and continued her story, "I probably could have laid there for the rest of my life. I concentrated on my heartbeat for a minute or two. Feeling it somehow changed my perspective. If there was nothing everywhere else, then I was something. It kind of sounds conceited, but I was the only something. I could decide what was something and what was nothing. Sort of. I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this."

He chuckled to himself. "I'm very grateful for what you've done for me. The least I could do is listen to your story. I really would like to hear it."

A distant smile lingered on her face, her eyes semi-focused on the glass in her hands. "I still don't understand the limitations, but I- I guess I make dreams come true. The one wish that stands the strongest in your heart can come true. Something I do makes it happen. Don't tell anyone though. I don't think it'd be good if people found out it."

"That's it? That's all you're going to say? You're being a tease," he said, clearly enjoying himself.

She stood up and slid the bar stool forward. With a smile she said, "I'm the last person your bar will ever serve. You can retire now. Why not get an early start? Besides, my ride's here."

She waved and walked out, the cold air filling in behind her. It would be the last time he felt the winter's chill.

--

"Hey Sylvie. How did it go?"

The girl looked back to the door, that sad look on her face masked by that sweet smile. "Just the way he wanted, I would say." She sits down in his car and rubs her hands together to fight of the cold. "So did you think about what you wanted yet?"