I've lost count of the days, how long it's been since the rain started, but it's been going strong for a long time now. It started out fine enough, a pestering drizzle but nothing more. It wasn't until later, much later, that we realized how much trouble we were really in.
There's a myth, somewhere, that I read in one of my books before, the same book that got Sierra so freaked. I thought it was fiction at the time.
It told me about the rain. How the rain can do something to a man, can get into his brain, play with his head, and then drive him insane. It'll bring him down, and it'll bring him and everything he holds close down into the watery depths of darkness. The rain will drown their soul and float the evil lurking inside to the surface. The rain'll make a man insane if you give it a chance. The rain'll take all the deepest, darkest secrets of the soul and push them out into the open. The rain'll share. The rain'll humiliate. The rain'll corrupt.
It's all downhill from there.
The myth went on to explain how the rain made people do things. Bad things. Horrible things. Some committed suicide, others homicide, sometimes even genocide. If it ends in '-cide,' you know it's bad. You can blame the rain. The rain can do that to people. It does do that to people.
Like I said, it's been raining so long in this little town that I can't even begin to count the days, now.
Imagine what we're like.
I don't know how much longer we're going to be able to make it in here, the few of us who have remained untouched trapped together in the attic, and those with us who, inevitably, were effected. But it won't be long, I can tell you that much. It won't be long at all. I'd ask you to pray for me, but by the time you find this, it will be too late. The windows are already fogging back up over this message. The rain is trapping us in.
There's a myth, somewhere, that I read in one of my books before, the same book that got Sierra so freaked. I thought it was fiction at the time.
It told me about the rain. How the rain can do something to a man, can get into his brain, play with his head, and then drive him insane. It'll bring him down, and it'll bring him and everything he holds close down into the watery depths of darkness. The rain will drown their soul and float the evil lurking inside to the surface. The rain'll make a man insane if you give it a chance. The rain'll take all the deepest, darkest secrets of the soul and push them out into the open. The rain'll share. The rain'll humiliate. The rain'll corrupt.
It's all downhill from there.
The myth went on to explain how the rain made people do things. Bad things. Horrible things. Some committed suicide, others homicide, sometimes even genocide. If it ends in '-cide,' you know it's bad. You can blame the rain. The rain can do that to people. It does do that to people.
Like I said, it's been raining so long in this little town that I can't even begin to count the days, now.
Imagine what we're like.
I don't know how much longer we're going to be able to make it in here, the few of us who have remained untouched trapped together in the attic, and those with us who, inevitably, were effected. But it won't be long, I can tell you that much. It won't be long at all. I'd ask you to pray for me, but by the time you find this, it will be too late. The windows are already fogging back up over this message. The rain is trapping us in.