A radical reworking of Rainfall, from NaPoWriMo. Travelling a long road requires concentration, and an idea of destination. Sometimes we get lost on the back-roads.
Rainfall. Rain comes and goes but the story continues with its troubles and turns a backdrop to miles we cross. On the road ahead traffic slows to the speed of the nervous driver and red lights flash warnings that scatter up into the windscreen. We drive and the wind and rain push against the narrative, working crosswise against the end and the last page. There is no location, we could be anywhere on this road, ahead or past. The wipe of the blades back and back, again and again the thwap of their turn, stripes of colour repeating a line of text over the sound of the engine. This wind drawn night with its closed curtain darkness draws silence into the cab, we are lost to the world. I listen for you breathing, for anything to prove I am not alone in here. The CD player reaches the end and starts again, jumping back through chapters when light spills into the space around us, two silhouettes caught looking, following the words and waiting for the journey to be something, a place or a reason or a destination.