It was raining

It was raining.

The window was open and the white curtains floated like specters in the pale moonlight. Atom bombs of water fell from the ceiling. Gloria usually put down pans to catch the drops, but she hadn’t felt the need.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with a bathrobe wrapped around her. Her hair was brushed back in a sloppy ponytail. She had a thin face. Her father always told her she was the type of girl who always looked beautiful, even without any makeup. She hadn’t believed him.

She glanced at the gun on the table, and then ran her fingers over the long, smooth shaft; it was hard and cold, resting peacefully.

Her parakeet began to chirp and flutter about in his cage. Her eyes danced to it for a moment. Its little wings were beating in vein.

She opened the door of her apartment and walked out into the hall. She didn’t bother to lock up.

An abandoned newspaper rested in the corner beside the stairwell. She picked it up, feeling it between her hands, and then placed it in the trashcan.

She descended the stairs casually and walked outside.

It was raining.

Gloria took off her hair tie. Her black locks fell down about her shoulders.

She loosened the tie of her robe and removed it, exposing her body to the night, as if she were Venus emerging from a clamshell as a single polished pearl. She let the rain caress her body, not worrying if anyone saw her. Her eyes shut tightly. The world was shrouded, misty and unclear. Alley cats mewed in the cold, searching for scraps of ambrosia that the gods had tossed aside. Rivers flowed down her soft skin, running over the caverns of her body, constantly downward, driven into a uniform continuity of fate; all crashing to the ground.

She still felt dirty as she put her robe back on and walked inside. She shivered when she got back into the apartment. The bird chirped in elation at her return.

Off in the distance she heard the sound of a couple screaming. She knew that only lovers could yell like that.

The gun glistened at her like something out of a dream and she realized she had left the door of the apartment open.

Gloria walked over to the bird’s cage and opened it. The parakeet looked at her, let out a gleeful chirp, and fluttered onto its perch.

“Go,” she said. “I’m setting you free.”

The bird didn’t move. Gloria’s fury grew. How could it be so ignorant? She slammed on the top of the cage. The bird fluttered about in surprise, but it did not leave the cage.

“The window’s open,” she urged.

Gloria sighed and closed the gate of the cage. Then she walked over to the window and shut it. The curtains immediately fell back to their original position.

As she pushed the door closed, a beam of light from the hall shrank and disappeared

She turned to the table. The cold snake was waiting for her, tempting her.

“Not tonight,” she thought. She picked up the gun and walked into her bedroom, placing it into her underwear drawer. She closed it like a coffin lid.

Gloria slept well that night, beneath her warm cotton sheets. There were lovers fighting and cats prowling; rain falling all the while.