Sometimes, when he is feeling low and just needs to speak, he talks to the rain.
It was a habit that started as a child, lonely and small and in want of a listener.
It had been a rough day at school, kids picking on him for something silly and small, teachers scolding him for not paying attention though he was trying to understand what was being taught,
lunch forgotten at home on the counter. His dad, the local Junes store’s GM, was at work when class finally let out for the day.
His mother, a nurse at the hospital the town over, was on call and dropped him off at home with a quick kiss and an apology.
, he insisted, knowing how short-staffed the place could be.
It had been a bad day, and they both knew it from the look on the child’s face when she picked him up, but his mother was still new and couldn’t really afford to call off.
He waved her off from the front door as the rain started to fall, smile firmly in place until she was long out of sight.
Then, with a sigh soft as fluttering wings, he walked inside and up to his room.
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