" I Dreamt of the Rain "

I dreamt of the rain again, and in my dream, the streets of the capitol were dark and gleaming in the moonlight, made into a river by the rain. I walked in a heavy canvas coat, carrying a backpack and a knife. If I found something useful, I would put it in the bag. If I found a rat, or if one found me, I would kill it. The rats were perhaps the worst part of my dream.



I dreamt of the rain again, and in my dream, I didn't know what had happened. I couldn't tell why I was alone, why the rain fell, why it pooled in the shadows and scattered in the light. The few people I found were hardly people. The rain had done its duty by them, and now they belonged to it.



I dreamt of the rain again, and in my dream I flew. Flying high over the city, I could see vast swaths the rain had cut through the thoroughfares and marketplaces. Where man had established order, the rain swept it away. It had made the city its own. The rain coursed in black channels under, over, through, winding down the alleys and forming new roads. I dreamt of the rain again, and in my dream I landed before the cathedral. There I saw the rain had turned cold. The flagstones were slick and slippery. The monuments to man's gods were distorted in the moonlight, and eroded by the rain. I saw them fall, one by one, sending up a column of rainwater. In time, the rain would be all that there was.



I dreamt of the rain again, and I could hear each drop fall against the roads and highways and roofs and sidewalks.



I dreamt of the rain again, and I could hear things lapping at the pools of rainwater in the dark.



I dreamt of the rain again, and in time the moon was covered by clouds.



 



I dreamt of the rain again, but this time I wasn't sure I was dreaming.