Author's Note: Ah, pointlessness. But look! Third person! This may or may not turn out to be a vignette (short, 2- or 3-chapter story) if I so choose, but I don't know. Maybe. I'm warning you, though, this has little depth and even less plot, so…

Rain, Rain

It was raining again. She hated rain.

Lightning flashed across the sky, temporarily lighting up the room she was huddled in. She didn't know if the power was out or if she'd just forgotten to turn on the light. The pitch black made the rain so much worse. She could almost see some murderer coming in her apartment to do her in in a horrible, ghastly way.

Shuddering, she pulled the blanket closer and brought her knees up to her chin.

The thunder boomed, causing the windows to shake. She shuddered again, trying to will the rain to go away. It rained harder.

Figures, she thought. The day she showed psychic power would be the day that her measly little apartment spontaneously turned into a mansion. She amused herself for a few seconds with the idea of the looks on her friends' faces if that happened. She snorted, thinking of her snobby sister.

More lightning and a crack of thunder made her jump nearly out of her skin. Pulling the blanket even closer to herself, she tried to remember the songs she had sang when she was young and had actually liked rain.

"Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day…"

Her voice was thin and it seemed to only make the rain worse. She didn't sing very long.

There were footsteps in the apartment above her. She gave a sardonic smile. At least she wasn't the only one awake at this ungodly hour, listening to the rain. The footsteps receded and she began to feel cramped; she'd been sitting here for an hour.

Just as she was about to get up and see if she could make some Ramen noodles or something, she heard the sounds of dripping. Groaning, she stood up and turned to see the water dripping down from the ceiling, right onto the nice rug her grandmother had given her for Christmas three years ago.

"Now, Mary, I got this rug on a trip to China this summer, and it's very fragile. I don't want to see this get ruined in any way! No spilling food, water, tea, nothing, not on this rug!"

Sorry, Grandma, couldn't help it, she thought as she grabbed a pot and stuck it under the drip. The noise was almost as bad as the water getting on the rug.

She grasped the blanket again and was just about to retreat back to the couch, Ramen noodles forgotten (she'd put her only pot under the leak), when there was a knock at her door. She opened it cautiously.

"Hey, I'm the neighbor from upstairs, wanted to warn you about the le—oh. You've found out, I see."

"Yeah, it's not the first. I'll have to get my dad to fix it for me."

"Oh, he can do that? For free?" She nodded. "Can he fix my ceiling. It's been leaking for the past week, driving me nuts!"

Mary sighed. "I'll see if he can."

"Hey, I'm making hot cocoa upstairs, care to join me?" The woman looked hopeful. She didn't want to know why. People here… Well, they could seem friendly and be totally different. Just last week, some little old man had been murdered when he accepted an invitation to have hot cocoa. Crazy lady slipped arsenic in the drink when he wasn't looking; said it was for the good of mankind. Mary had known the guy.

Even if it did better humanity, really, arsenic? She wasn't going to end up poisoned at this hour.

"Sorry, no, I'm about to go back to sleep." The woman sighed.

"Well, I'll go on back up then, you have a nice night, dear."

"You too." She shut the door and curled back up on the couch. Judging by the dripping, the pot was nearly full, and the rain didn't seem to be letting up any time soon. She really didn't want to get back up, but the rug was about to get even more water on it. Stupid fragile oriental dyes.

There were more footsteps upstairs, looked like the woman was out and about. Mary emptied the pot and put it back underneath the dripping, right on top of the wet spot, where the dyes were beginning to mix.

Lovely.

She opened up the pantry door and pulled out a bag of instant hot chocolate. Swiss Miss, with marshmallows and extra chocolate, no arsenic or belladonna. Just the type she liked.

Thunder cracked again, and she shivered, taking a sip of her microwaved cocoa. She grimaced, then added coffee cream to it. Hot cocoa never came out as nice when microwaved rather than stove-heated. It was always too thin.

She crawled back to the couch, checking the time on her way. 3:42 AM. She had a feeling that she'd be stuck here a while, as she was not going to try and sleep while it was thundering out. No point; she'd wake back up in a couple of minutes.

The rain continued to pour as she stared blankly out the window. It was going to be a long night.