Author's Notes: In Creative Writing we had to write a story about someone giving something to someone else. It had to be symbolic and such and such so I wrote this.

*ahem* This story is mine. Yes? Yes.

Black Umbrella

The weather was grey and dull, rain plopping into growing brown puddles on the sidewalk. A car fshhhh’d past, spraying muddy water in a wave that swamped the cracked concrete of the sidewalk before receding back into the puddle and storm drain. Halston stood under an awning of rather garish colors and glared at the downpour. He had been walking home from work when the first droplet landed on his hand. Having no umbrella to hide under he was forced to take shelter beneath a horrid coffee shop canopy. Halston shuddered as the wind blew a sheet of water into his refuge and he stepped away from the droplets. He hated getting wet. His clothes would stick, his muscles would shiver, and he would get home in a nasty mood. Halston preferred to leave the office in a good mood and make it home in a good mood. When he left the office happy and got home not so happy his subsequent dinner and cat ministrations did not give him as much joy. Since Halston liked his joy he felt very, very miserable after all that and, as a result, everyone in his office suffered. At the moment Halston was lamenting his lack of foresight and huddling in his almost waterproof coat.

Faintly, above the thwapping rain Halston heard the sound of approaching footsteps. They never lagged, paused, or even hurried. Merely carried on in a steady and almost assured manner. Halston shook his head.

Shoes don’t do that. Although they do sound like expensive ones.

Soon the owner of said shoes appeared. Usually during such weather spells a person would be hard pressed to see anything two feet in front of him. However, this man appeared gradually, almost as if the very rain around him parted in front and closed behind. He wore an old, tattered brown coat that hung off his skinny, practically emaciated frame in great billowing folds. His hair blew in greasy, unkempt strands, occasionally whipping his face and splattering disturbingly brown water every which way. Unfortunately, the man seemed to be heading for Halston’s very canopy.

The man walked under the awning, hair bereft of movement and so hung in front of his dark features like a curtain of dripping, starving snakes. Halston sidled away from the figure and glanced once more out into the dreary scene, praying for the rain to stop even for a few seconds.

There were several uncomfortable minutes as the two stood beneath the shelter. Halston sniffed the air and noticed a faint scent that almost made him sneeze. He gave the man a renewed glare of disgust and steadfastedly tried to ignore the smell of rotten eggs.

“Nice weather.”

Halston gave the dirty man a look of pure, unfiltered horror. “Uh.”

“Nice. Rainy. Rainy is good.”

“Um, for the plants?” Halston cursed himself for responding but something in the man’s manner compelled the listener to respond, to interact.

The man laughed. A horrid hacking, fluid-filled coughing spell that lasted for a good minute. The spitting and chest thumping, two. “Plants? Wh-what planet are you from?”

Halston grimaced.

The mud-covered figure waved a pale, claw like hand that somehow appeared from beneath his brown coat. “Ah, ah, doesn’t matter. Not my business.... Rain..... from heaven. Have you ever believed that rain is angel’s tears?”

“They must cry a lot.”

“Well, why wouldn’t they? So much sin... corruption... fairly turns your mind.”

“I thought God was only supposed to care about that stuff.”

The filthy hobo chuckled. “True, that.”

A silence descended, heavy and broken only by the pattering of rain on the awning. Halston glanced at his watch and cursed. “Shit! I’d sell my soul for a fucking umbrella!”

“Really?”

Halston jumped and turned to the old man. Glittering eyes peered through a sheet of tangled hair, burning holes into the business man’s retinas. Long, twisted nails attached to bony fingers tapped pale lips.

“Well... if it would get me an umbrella and if souls really existed.” He laughed nervously.

“Ah. It just so happens.” A hand reached under the massive coat, eventually bringing out something sleek and black. “I have one.”

“Surely you need it yourself.”

The man held out the small object, emaciated limbs swallowed by the soaked brown sleeves of the coat. “Oh no, I have no need of such things. Here. But think carefully, very carefully.”

Halston snatched the shiny black umbrella from the man’s loose grip. “What do I owe you?”

“Eh?”

“For the umbrella. How much?”

“Nothing. I have already received payment.”

Halston raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off and went about trying to get the umbrella open. The hobo began to walk into the rain.

“Um... thanks!”

The man turned fluidly, coat flaring in renewed wind. He smiled unnervingly, showing too much tooth. “No problem. They must come willingly, after all.”

Halston paused and looked up to reply but the brown-coated man had vanished into the gloom. Muttering about weirdoes and crazy hobos he managed to open the surprisingly effective umbrella. He placed it over his head and walked confidently into the rain.

A dove cooed and huddled closer in its protective alcove. A black hexagon appeared from beneath a garish awning and began moving south. The bird fluffed its feathers and turned black eyes to the moving object as birds are wont to do. The black shape stopped at a crosswalk then shuffled forward, through the mass of people. The avian fluttered, crouched and took off into the downpour, wings beating through each raindrop as they cascaded off its white feathers. The black hexagon paused, turned.

And was promptly hit by a bus.