It should rain right about now.

The sky should crack open and let out great torrential falls of water that would soak anyone and everything to the bone. But the night sky is clear, the stars are out with the half-moon, and the daytime dry heat has cooled down to a pleasant breeze.

It’s all so out of place.

Where is my rain?

It’s so disorienting without the rain. There’s blood on the ground and on my clothes and on my face and I can feel it seeping into my scalp through my hair. The hilt of the knife in my hand is cold and stained red. This blood shouldn’t be here so close to me, though to have a bloody blade is a familiar sight. But it’s the wrong blood and the wrong place and there is no rain to make it all go away.

Where is my rain?