Short Story 1: Pathetic Fallacy

Clouds. They loom triumphantly and yet no light shines from them. Those grey puffs of dreary cotton: horrid, terrible, painful, terrifying.

Yesterday was raining, but why did it have to?

Something should be out to greet the crowd and greet the people: and there that something was… standing… raining. And after all that, it still stands.

A bell tolls from the church, overshadowed by those dreadful clouds. And those dreadful clouds are gathered by more clouds. Many clouds. So many clouds.

Something should be there. Something hurts. And yet, something remains.

How can the skies be so dark despite being so happy? The answer remains locked, just like that door.

When was the last time it was open? When was the last time it was opened from the inside?

A phone chants from a table. Chiming, humming, buzzing. But it is ignored.

The weather is…

Look at them, standing down there. Raining. What right do they have?

The chanting continues.

What right do they have?

The chanting continues.

Who is it from?

The chanting continues.

…

Yesterday was raining; there is no need for a reminder.

The bell tolls as crows fly through the dark clouds. Through that is the sun, beginning to leak its brightness through the triumphant puffs of grey.

The phone stops ringing.

“Hello?”

The door is unlocked.

It rains.

“I’m heading right there.”

I walk to the funeral, the grey clouds floating high.

The sun shines on a flowery grave, happy.