Rain

Rain

And it rained.

Three pages. That was all that was required to satisfy the pundits.
Although, even such simple demands can, at times, destroy the very
heart of the most ardent hack.
And so I sit back, rolling on the fulcrum of my buttocks and search
through streams of consciousness, deep down, buried seeds of the
psyche, urging myself on through lakes of despondency, at last and
almost done, I collide with concrete and shattering, only to reform in
a showering splendour.

The idea.

A man breaks into a flat on the eighth floor of a tower block on the
edge of a large industrial city. The flat is empty. He is alone except
for the goldfish. There is a table and three chairs. He sits at the
table on a chair of your choice. He sees the goldfish, in the bowl, on
the table and smiles.

And it rained.

Outside, and audibly upon the window, it is raining. A woman dismounts
a large red bus and walks east, in the direction of a tower block. She
has no umbrella, no raincoat, no protection from such a tumultuous
downpour.

And here is the news.

The goldfish is dying. The woman is soaking. The man is wanking over
the goldfish.

The break.

There is no jam on the table today. No jam, but plenty of Marmite. The
growing up spread and it's jar, imitating the curves of the goldfish
bowl. Smaller, yes, flatter, yes, but imitation all the same. The man
smears the goldfish with Marmite, puts the goldfish into his mouth and
sucks clean the scales and fins. PLONK! the goldfish is released and
swims still, in forgetful circles around the inner sanctum of the
goldfish bowl.

In and out of the rain.

Footsteps splash through one last puddle and then on. Through the
doorway, dry ground and dripping hair, she walks toward the lift shaft
with finger movements to a now depressed button and waits...

The set up.

Alone, one man, one woman and one goldfish. One awaits with the
advantage of anticipation. One walks closer by the minute and as
unaware of the future as a goldfish. The other is a goldfish.

A little more action beneath the sound of rain.

PING! The lift door arrives and invites. The passenger, passive,
excepts. The door waits... and closes. A little mechanical humming and
some vertical travel. Thirty seconds and another PING!

Some open doors.

The lift door is opening... it is now open. The woman enters the
corridor of the eighth floor. She walks towards her flat, around a
corner. A doorway, which she identifies as her own, is open and the
splinters say, forced, Does she walk on?

The end of the tail.

A goldfish is a creature with a very short memory. Identify with it's
reddish-gold colour and limbless body - excepting fins. Most of it's
body is covered in scales, but one part that is not is the end of the
tail.

An epigram in a shelter.

She walks into the flat. She looks up and sees the man. He looks at
her and makes a heart-type, imitation apology. She, shakes her head. It
was not the first time he had lost his key.

****