And the Days Are Dark and Dreary (Portraits of a Mary Sue)

Snippet from the story I’m currently working on.


Sam had been on the balcony of her apartment for almost an hour when the rain began. She had felt it approaching in her bones, mainly in the place where she had broken her arm a year and a half ago. She’d finally decided she might as well watch it, if it was intent on making her feel its presence.

It was soft at first, like the rustling of dry paper. Then the first fat drops began to fall, tiny explosions against the concrete of her apartment building. In a matter of seconds, mist had turned to downpour and rainwater splashed Sam’s bare feet. She pulled them in, tucked her chin between her knees, and watched the rainwater dive bomb the lake below.

Skin against skin, laughing in the dark.

She shook away the memory of that night last year and angled her body so that she couldn’t see the lake. She knew physical pain. She’d been in and out of hospitals enough that she knew what “real” pain felt like.

This was so much worse.


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