It's raining...

Congratulations to Karen Harrington for being roasted!

I opened my front door today to go to work, the forecasts had predicted rain and they were right. It is raining. I don't know what I expected, I guess I kind of thought it would a a sweet sort of rain, the kind that inspires you to snuggle up next to a really good friend or book, maybe catch up on those DVD's that always seem to be collecting dust somewhere.... But no, it's not that kind of rain. It's not the kind of rain that traps you in introspection as you gaze out of your window, it's not even the kind of rain you silently thank for keeping what's left of your lawn from dying and turning the sad, lusterless brown of failure and decay. No, it's a dreary, ugly, mean kind of rain. The kind of rain that makes you turn away in dread, the kind that fills you with dismay at the thought of going out in its soggy, nasty ether. It's a rain cold as the grave and twice as repellent. At home, you close the curtains with a shudder and turn up the volume on your television or radio to drown out the leathery sussuration of its unnatural call. You don't care that it is reviving your lawn or saving the last of this season's tomatoes... this rain is not quite right, it just feels bad. It makes you feel inexplicably lonely, it dredges up memories of things you'd buried deep inside and prayed that you'd forget... yes, it's that kind of rain. The kind of rain that washes the blood of murder victims down sewer drains, that destroys crime scenes and renders evidence unusable. The kind of rain that hides a victims tears, that makes escape from a predator so much harder, that causes the innocent to slip and fall at the worst possible time...
it's a crime writer's kind of rain...