She had always known the rain was poison.

Everyone knew it.

They had gotten good at staying indoors, letting the flood subside before stepping out.

They had gotten good at hiding, turning off their lives to let the fear of something stinging skin and eyes hold them grounded in a lockdown.

They told each other horror stories.

They spread their fear as if sharing a feast.

She had always known the rain was poison, but she was beginning to wonder if she believed it.

So as she sat through thunderstorms and felt the call of wind and water pulling at her chest, as she listened to the symphony of life happening outside, without her, she began to slip away.

They were afraid for her.

They wouldn't let her forget it.

It was all they could do not her tie her down when the rain came, they were so worried she would let herself go.

They couldn't seem to understand that she would risk the holding cell of her security cracking under floodwaters that would drown her in a hissing of electrical poison pain, if it meant she could live with something more than the ache in her chest that grew and grew each time it rained.

And the rain came again.

And she opened the door.

They all screamed at her, no!

As if they cared.

But how could they claim to care as they stopped her from doing what she knew was right?

She stepped out.

The rain was cold and clear and lovely on her skin.

And for the first time, she was alive.

I can't write something for this because my favorite story already exists - and I've discovered a link where you can read it yourself: https://www.npsd.k12.nj.us/cms/lib/NJ01001216/Centricity/Domain/564/Rain_Rain_Go_Away_Text.pdf

"Rain Rain Go Away" is a short story by Isaac Asimov about a seemingly perfect family next door who for some reason avoid all forms of water. I read it ages ago as a kid who digested science fiction short stories like potato chips. I'd get those huge hulking compendiums of old 60's/70's stories and read them while I was in class pretending to pay attention (if you still manage to get good grades, you get away with shit - we all know it). I read so many weird stories but this one still sticks in my head.

Yeah, the premise is kinda obvious / cheesy, but when you're randomly reading through sci fi stories and suddenly this pops up in the mix you kinda pause and go "Huh?"

I think these shorts were honestly the best examples of playing with ideas and fantastical plots, none of which had to go very far to really take you places. You can have interstellar sagas, or space battles, or technology gone wrong. Then you can just have a strange, quirky family next door and mind = blown.

I tried to go to sleep. I really did. But an hour ago, 3 am, I gave up on trying to sleep. I’m just excited. Haylee invited me over for a Halloween party.

I got this awesome psycho butcher outfit, complete with a checkered apron and a severed arm.

I know, right? Awesome.

The party starts at six. Which means I have fourteen hours until I can go.

But I’m just so excited.

Of course, my parents don’t know. They can’t know.

They don’t like Haylee. I don’t know why. She’s awesome.

Honestly, I think I know why they don’t like her.

They’ve heard the rumors.

See, Haylee is gay.

Everyone rains on her parade for that, but I’m okay with it.

Which, she would say, is a good thing, since I’m her girlfriend and all.

I flop down on my bed.

This is going to be the best Halloween ever.

I just have to wait fourteen hours.

I stare at the ceiling, watching the fan spin around and around. I can feel the light breeze brush my short hair to the side.

My brother, Jacob, says my short hair makes me look badass. My little sister says it makes me look stupid. Or, with her childish voice, “Sthoopid.”

My little sister is three.

I trust my brother’s opinion more than hers.

Everyone always asks if we’re twins, even though he’s a year older. I’m as tall as him, and scheduled to get taller in the future. Other than the year age difference and my brother’s pathetic attempt at a mustache, we look the same. Same dirty blonde hair, same freckled face, same blue eyes.

We even act pretty similar.

My sister, on the other hand, doesn’t fit with either of us. She’s got Mom’s blonde hair, and brown eyes.

That’s because of Mac.

I won’t say I hate Mac. He’s... okay.

My brother and I both take after our dad. But our dad was away a lot. For his work. he works with the government, or something. He never told us exactly what his job was, before...

Before Mom got bored and divorced him. She said he wasn’t home often enough, that he cared more about work than his family, blah, blah, blah.

And then she married Mac. He doesn’t have a job, and apparently Mom sees that as an improvement. He does all kinds of fun stuff with us, though. I’ll give him that.

But Mac is the one who got Mom into the religious stuff. Not just church on Sunday, I’m talking full-blown religious mania.

I didn’t mind it at first, untill the homophobia kicked in. Mom was... hesitant at first, but she really loves Mac. I get the feeling that, like me, she doesn’t believe in God. She just pretends to so that Mac will stay.

Mac is a pastor, but he doesn’t make any money. He wanders around town with pamphlets telling people that the end is nigh.

Yep, Mac is that guy. It’s gotten worse lately. He stays out all day with his pamphlets, and him and Mom have been arguing more. I’m starting to feel like we’re on a train headed for Divorce 2.0.

They’ve been married for four years. Funny. It took twice that time for mom to get bored of Dad. Only four years, and already she’s bored of Mac.

I think Mom needs to work on her boredom.

I think Mac’s the one who convinced her she should have another kid. No one says that, of course, but I think it’s true. All his “procreation is the way of the Lord” crap must have been weighing on her.

And so, three-ish years ago, my baby sis Grace was born.

Now, Mom is preggers again.

With baby number four.

I feel bad for her. Sometimes. I mean, pregnancy sucks, but she’s the one who married Mac.

Though I will say Mac has changed. He used to be fun. Now he’s a full-on religious nutcase.

I think that God would have liked the old Mac better.

But hey, maybe Mac is right. Maybe “the end is nigh.”

I look out into the peaceful night and snort.

Yeah, right. The world sure doesn’t look like it’s about to end. It’s a little overcast, but around here, Halloween might as well be Prime Miserable Season. Always rainy, or cold, or the double whammy, rainy and cold.

I look at the clock.

“Are you fucking serious,” I mutter. I feel like I’ve been awake for weeks, but it’s only 4:19. I still have two hours before the accepted wake up time, six. But Mac always starts his hour-long prayer at six, so I always make a point to avoid going downstairs until at least 7:30, which means I basically have three hours until I can wake up.

Goodie.

I hear footsteps outside my room.

We have an old house, so it’s always creaky.

I hear a small yawn.

It’s Grace. She’s having another nightmare.

They’ve gotten bad lately. She gets up and wanders around the house, moaning almost unintelligibly about monsters.

Mac thinks it’s prophetic. Mom thinks she needs therapy.

Just another thing they argue about these days.

I hear Jacob talking to her.

“Come on, Gracie,” he says, “Come on. Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

If Grace replies, I don’t hear it.

“What’re you doing?” Oh great. Now Mac’s up.

“I’m getting Grace back to bed,” Jacob snaps.

“She could be giving us a message.”

“I’m sure the Lord has a better messenger than a three year old girl. She’s scared, and she needs to get back in bed before she hurts someone.”

“The Lord—”

“Mac,” says my mom, entering the conversation with her voice groggy. “Let her go to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“The end is coming, Rachel. We need to be ready.”

“Mac, enough, you’re scaring the children. See what this has done to Grace?”

“Grace has been chosen. You have to listen to her.”

“She’s six, Mac. Please. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. We all need some rest.”

“Mommy?” I guess Grace is awake now.

“Oh, Gracie, sweetie, go back to bed.”

“Mommy, the rain is coming.”

“Yeah, Gracie, I know, it’s going to be another rainy Halloween.”

“No, Mommy. The bad rain. It’s going to eat us.”

“The rain!” Mac exclaims. “See! The rain!”

“Mac! Stop this! Gracie, get to bed.”

“Come on, Gracie,” Jacob says. “Let’s go to bed, okay?”

“Uh-kay,” Gracie says, in the lispy voice she gets when she sucks her thumb.

As they walk back down the hallway, I hear Gracie mention the rain again. Jacob shushes her, and then I can’t hear them anymore.

“You heard her,” Mac says. “We can’t let them out tomorrow. The rain is coming. Like the great flood. We have been chosen.”

“Do you want us to build a freaking ark, Mac? She’s just a little kid who keeps having horrible nightmares. All of this religious stuff is getting to her. The end isn’t coming. We’re perfectly safe. You need to stop this.”

“But Rachel...”

“Don’t ‘but’ me. I don’t take that from my kids, and I won’t take it from you. Mac, if you continue this, I... I’m going to have to get you committed.”

“Rachel!”

“I’m serious, Mac. No more of this nonsense. I believe in God as much as you do. But He doesn’t want this. He wouldn’t want you to throw away your life.”

“The end...” Mac says, but his voice is weak.

″The end of this conversation. We’ll continue this later, when the kids are out trick-or-treating. I don’t want to disturb them any more.”

I hear Mom shuffle back to bed, but Mac doesn’t move.

My guess is, he’s going to do some extra praying tonight.

I can’t wait for the party. Fourteen hours— no, thirteen and a half now— is a long time. Too long.

Maybe I’ll make up some excuse. Get out of the house early.

What excuse to use? Eh, who knows? I’ve got a few hours to figure it out. And Mom and Mac most likely won’t care either way. They have a lot to talk about.

Poor Mac. He has no idea who he’s dealing with. Mom is bored of him, but it’s not just that. She cares about her children. And she’ll do anything for us. And Mac seems... well, he’s starting to seem... unbalanced. If she thinks he poses a threat to us... he’s gone.

And right now, with his “End of Days” shit, he’s really starting to seem threatening.

That sounds silly to me. He’s just... religious. This is fun, goofy Mac, who taught me and Jacob how to fish, who bought us an Xbox for Christmas, who built a tree house in our backyard and taught Grace how to read and write before she even hit kindergarten.

But he’s changed. Even the naive, hopeful part of my brain realizes that. He’s obsessed with God. But it’s more than that.

Just like my dad, he’s buried himself in his work.

And so he’ll meet the same fate as my dad: Divorce.

And I think Mom’s right. Grace is just following her daddy. Her nightmares aren’t prophecies, they’re just childhood delusions brought on by her father’s obsession.

The rain is coming...

I stare out the window at the overcast sky and can’t help but shiver. If the rain is going to “eat us,” like Grace said, I certainly don’t want to be walking around in it.

Great, now I’m delusional, too. Thanks a lot, Mac.

It’s going to be a great Halloween. I can’t let my nutcase stepdad ruin it for me.

I look at the clock.

4:59.

You know what? I’m obviously not going to get any sleep.

Might as well do something besides stare at my ceiling and eavesdrop on my shitty dysfunctional family.

I’m not supposed to have my phone in my room. My parents are pretty anti-technology. I didn’t even get a phone until last year, when I turned sixteen.

But I have it in my room anyway, and they never notice.

I only ever use it as a last resort.

Today is shaping up to be a last resort kind of day, though, so I’m using it. Damn the consequences.

I log into Instagram, scrolling through a bunch of cheesy costumes and trying to find Haylee’s feed.

Her latest post was 9 last night. It has a picture of her in her crazy nurse outfit. It’s super hot.

UGH!!! she types in all caps. MY SISTER IS STAYING HOME!! SO ANNOYING FML.

In the responses, I type “Dude, want me to bring my sis? You know they’re friends...”

I stare at the picture for a few more minutes before swiping out of the app.

A news notification shows up.

SEVERAL DROUGHT COUNTRIES RECIEVING RAIN FOR FIRST TIME IN ALMOST A YEAR.

3rd world countries like China, India, etc, have been in the midst of a crippling drought. As storm clouds loom for the first time in months, citizens eagerly await rain.

I delete the notification.

The rain is coming.

God, sometimes I wish Mom had never met Mac. And Grace and her stupid nightmares. They’re not prophecies. They’re just nightmares.

I should be happy. The drought is ending. There’s nothing bad or ominous about that. It’s a relief.

I flick through my various social medias and some Buzzfeed quizzes.

My mental age is 16 (shocker) my soulmate’s name is apparently Mack (oh the fucking irony), my spirit animal is a sloth, my anime soulmate is some guy named Light from some series I’ve never seen.

Even that gets old after a while.

6:15. Not bad. Time flies when you’re on the phone. Maybe that’s why Mac and Mom don’t like it. It’s a waste of time, when I should be praying or doing schoolwork or something.

I can drive now, but even that took me forever. I’m about to turn 17, and it took until last month to get my license. Besides, I don’t do it very often. I have to borrow Mom’s car, and since she’s usually at work (and she drives a minivan, which is just ew), driving is out of the question most of the time.

When in doubt, stick with the classics.

Minecraft.

I used to be good at it, but these days I’m not much of a gamer. I’m rusty and I get killed by zombies four times in the first night.

On the plus side?

It’s seven. I can probably-maybe get up and get out. I’ll tell Mac that I’m going to the mall. If he asks who I’m going with, I’ll say Aiesha. Since they don’t like me hanging out with Haylee, I usually use Aiesha as a scapegoat. She’s cool and if my parents ask, she’s good at lying.

Which probably has something to do with her drug addiction and extensive secret-keeping experience, but my parents don’t have to know about that. I mean, I’m not on drugs, and that’s what matters, right?

For the third time in three hours, I look out the window at the storm clouds.

STOP THINKING ABOUT RAIN, my brain says.

Easier said than done, Brain.

Another news notification shows up. I’m about to ignore it when I see my dad’s name.

Scientist Cooper Withers Speaks Up: “It’s my duty to tell the American people what I’ve done.”

Cooper Withers is a scientist for the U.S. government, who’s been working on a bioweapon called STORM. The U.S. has just released their first “test run,” sending lethal rain towards third world countries that have been experiencing historical levels of drought. It seems like this rain is a cruel blessing. Withers says that he engineered the virus, but that someone else authorized its use.

“It’s not ready to be tested,” Withers says. “If you’re outside in China, or India, or anywhere close, you need to get inside and stay there. Do not touch the rain.”

However, top government officials deny Withers’ accusations.

Carrie Red, cheif scientist in their meteorology department, says that they have no bioweapon. “The rain is perfectly safe,” she says. “Withers has been a friend of mine for a long time, but he recently was divorced, and I’m afraid it’s taken a toll on his mental health. The rain is a blessing to these suffering countries.”

I wince at the mention of the divorce. Whoever Carrie is, I don’t think she’s my dad’s friend. She just dealt a low blow.

What else is Carrie lying about? Could... could my dad be telling the truth?

Either way, it doesn’t mean Grace is a prophet. The rain is on the other side of the world right now.

I just hope Dad’s message gets out to the people that matter. The people who aren’t on the other side of the world. All these dead people... could Dad really have allowed this? Could he really have contributed?

I push these thoughts aside and continue reading.

Let’s hope Dr. Red is telling the truth. Many citizens in these third world countries don’t have access to proper shelter. In fact, there are 1.8 million homeless people in India alone. And many homes don’t have solid roofing and walls. If these countries are caught in the rain, in this... STORM weapon... the population could be decimated.

This is an in-progress report. New information will be added as it is discovered.

I swallow bile as I tug on my jeans and shirt. I stuff my costume into a bag along with money and my phone.

I have to get to Haylee’s house and talk to her about this. Mom and Mac have enough on their plates right now.

And I don’t need to stroke Mac’s ego about the “end of days” and Grace being a “prophet.” I need to get away from my family for a while.

I look outside, shaking away visions of acid rain.

The virus is being released in China and India, among other places. Probably Russia: might as well get ’em all in one go. Hell, add North Korea, too. Our overseas enemies. The government won’t let this virus get all the way over here. This is just a normal rainstorm on a normal Halloween in miserable Indiana. We’re in the middle of the U.S. Safe as can be in our privileged country.

No one is on the first floor, but I can hear Mac talking in the basement. Still praying, I guess.

I make a point of avoiding the creaky floorboards. I’ve lived in this house for longer than Mac has. I know my way around. I know how to escape without being heard.

Once I shut the door, I sprint towards Haylee’s house. It’s a few blocks away. I’ll hang out with her for a while, and then head to the mall and buy some shit, just to strengthen my alibi.

Haylee always gets up early. I’m pretty sure she has insomnia, or something. So I know she’ll answer the door.

And she does.

“You do know the party was at six pm, not six am,” Haylee says, laughing. “Come on in.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say. “I was excited, I guess. “Hey, check this out. I saw...”

But when I pull out my phone, the article is gone. I do a search. I check my history. I see “Top Ten Cute Cat Videos for October” but nothing about the rain. Not even the one about the drought ending.

“Saw what?”

“Nevermind,” I say. “Mom and Mac had another argument over Grace. Her nightmares are getting worse. I guess it was just getting to me.”

“Sorry about that,” Haylee says. “Anyway, the party doesn’t start until six, but my parents left for their ‘business trip’ last night. Wanna hit up a dollar store and buy some cheap snacks?”

“Girl, cheap snacks are my life.”

“I know. Remember what I got you for Valentine’s Day?”

“Those candy hearts that you got at Dollar Tree? Yep. They were a little stale, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“You’re such a dork, Rosie.”

“Come on, you know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Okay, Rosalynn.”

“You’re such a dick.”

I don’t know what my parents were thinking when they named me Rosalynn Withers. It’s like I was born a grandma or something. These days, everyone except Mac calls me Ross. I’m not trans or anything. I just don’t like the name Rosalynn. And, in the 21st century, who wouldn’t?

Mac says I should go with my God-given name. I keep trying to tell him that Mom and Dad named me, not God, but he won’t listen. And mom... she usually calls me Rose. It’s a compromise, I guess.

But to everyone else, I’m Ross.

Haylee’s sister comes toddling out of her room.

“You’re not supposed to be up, Hay-Hay. I’m telling Mommy.”

“Mommy and Daddy are on a very important business trip, Sarah. They don’t have time for your whining.

Sarah sniffles and heads back to her room, defeated.

“Yep, that’s right. I have to look after that brat this whole time. Annoying, right?”

I nod along, but I can’t help but think that Haylee has it pretty good. Her sister’s not a psychotic weirdo, her mom and dad are happily married, and she doesn’t have to worry about a religious nutcase. But I don't say any of that.

“Dude, Hay-Hay? Really?”

“Shut up, Rosie.”

“Alright, alright, point taken.”

“Anyway. Let’s go.”

I look towards Sarah’s bedroom. “And leave her alone?”

“She’ll be fine.”

I shrug and follow Haylee out towards the door.

We’ll only be gone a couple minutes. Haylee’s right. She’ll be fine.

As we drive down the street, I’m in charge of watching for cops. The curfew for teen drivers technically ends at seven, and it’s 6:43, so it’s probably a good idea to not get arrested.

Luckily, we make it to the store 100-percent-cop-free.

We buy a few sets of cheesy orange-and-purple streamers, several king sized bags of M&Ms, paper plates, and some packs of chewing gum.

The cashier gives us a weird look when we pay for it, but he shrugs it off. Teens probably come into this place alone all the time. Hell, it’s probably most of their business.

“Think this is enough?” Haylee says.

“I think we need some cheap grocery store cupcakes or something. Other than that, yeah. We’re good. We have enough M&Ms to feed an army.”

“M&Ms were made for soldiers,” Haylee says. “During WW2. True story.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“Says the one who can quote the history book.”

I flush. “I like history.”

“And yet you don’t know the history of M&Ms. Tsk, tsk.”

“Okay, okay, whatever. We’re both losers,” I say as Haylee pulls in to her driveway.

“Whatever you say.” Before I can reply, Haylee changes the subject. “Hey, my dad got me this awesome new RPG for my PS4. Wanna play a few rounds when we get home?”

“Hell yeah.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“You wish.”

With the cheap snacks and decorations left forgotten on Haylee’s island, we tromp down to her basement and start playing.

On our way down, Haylee grabs a bag of chips, and we play games and eat chips for hours.

“Holy shit-a-mole,” Haylee says, looking at the clock. Five already? Jesus, were we really playing for that long?”

I look at the Party Size bag of Lays, now empty and crumpled on the floor.

“Uh... yeah. I guess we were.”

“And your parents haven’t freaked out yet?”

“There’s busy.”

The truth, but not all of it.

My dad (my real dad, not Mac) used to say that a half-truth was the same as a lie.

I’ve always respectfully disagreed.

“Alright,” I say, seeing the look on Haylee’s face. “I’ll go check in with them. And I’ll come back with Grace, so your sister’s out of you hair.”

“Really? You’d do that?” She snorts. “Nevermind. Of course you would.”

I shrug. “It’s not that hard. Mom wants us out of the house anyway. I told you, her and Mac are arguing.”

“Again? Yeesh. Well, if you need me to come in with guns blazing, just text.”

“Yeah, like they need another reason to hate you. I’ll be fine, Hay-Hay.”

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone,” Haylee says, grinning while she jabs me in the side.

“Ow! Bitch.”

“Love you,” she sings.

“Love you too.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, blushing furiously. We’ve been dating for three months, and I still blush harder than a bass drop every time I say those words.

I’m weird like that.

I roll my eyes with a smile on my face as I head back to my house. Subconsciously, as I get closer, my feet drag, getting slower and slower, my steps smaller and smaller.

I really want to avoid a confrontation.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes.

WHERE ARE YOU????

It’s from my mom.

Good luck avoiding a confrontation now, genius.

“Rosalynn Zoë Withers, where in God’s name have you been?” Mom demands as I open the door.

Mac doesn’t even pull out the Ten Commandments on her, which is how I know I’m in deep shit.

“Uh... I went shopping.”

“With who?”

“Aiesha.”

“You’ve been gone all day. All day!”

“I was at her house for a while. Sue me.”

“All day, Rose!”

“Yeah, and you only just realized it,” I say. “I was waiting for a text. I came as soon as you texted.”

“Don’t talk to her like that, young lady.”

“Don’t call me ‘young lady.’ You’re not my dad. You’re barely even a dad to Gracie. Don’t try to be a dad to me,” I spit.

“I—”

“Hey Grace! Wanna go to Sarah’s house for Halloween?”

“Yeah!” I hear her enthusiastic cry from the other room.

“Who’s Sarah?” asks Mac, rage replaced with indignant confusion.

“Dude, Sarah is Grace’s best friend. She talks about her all the time. See what I mean? You’re a shit dad.”

“Rose!” Mom screeches. I ignore her and push out of the house. A few minutes later, Grace exits, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Mommy and Daddy are mad at you,” she says in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Do you want to hang out with Sarah or not?”

Grace pouts. “I wanna hang out with Sarah.”

“Good. Then shut up about Mom and Mac.”

I try my hardest to ignore her sniffles.

She’s not even my real sister. She’s Mac’s kid. Sure, Mom gave birth to her, but she’s still only half my sister. And she’s a spoiled brat.

But even as I say that, bitterness clouding my thoughts, I don’t believe it. I love Grace. She’s just... exhausting sometimes. She never knew Mac before he was a nutcase. Back when he was fun. She’s young enough that she’s on board with anything “Daddy” says.

Maybe I’m just jealous. She’s young. She’s innocent. She’s naive.

I don’t have that luxury.

Dad would have accepted me being lesbian. But thanks to Mac, my chance at an accepting family is gone.

Maybe I blame Perfect Little Princess Gracie for that. She’s a perfect example, even at six, of the girl I’ll never be. But it’s not her fault. Even I know that. It’s not her fault, or even Mom’s.

It’s Mac’s.

My phone buzzes, and as I reach down to shut it off, I realize it’s Jacob.

Dude, M&M r POd at you. Better b careful.

I send an upside down smiley face and stuff my phone into my pocket.

M&M is our little joke for Mom and Mac.

These days, I’ve starting thinking of them as separate. They’re not M&M anymore. They’re more like... M M. With too much space in between.

I ring Haylee’s doorbell and she sighs when she sees me.

“I was about to bring in the big guns. Oh, and you brought your sister! Awesome!”

“Hi Haylee,” Grace says, except with her thumb in her mouth, it sounds like Hay-wee. Grace never got over the habit of sucking her thumb. For all I know, she’ll be sucking it in college.

But I don’t really care. It’ll be good practice for dating boys.

I usher her into Sarah’s room, far away from the loud 80′s music. The classics: Thriller, Monster Mash, Spooky Scary Skeletons.

“This place looks great,” I say. “All this with a few streamers and an alarm clock set to Halloween radio? You’re quite the decorator, Haylee.”

“Well, I had some help from our favorite gay.”

“Wait, Carl is here?”

“Fuck yeah he is. His parents decided to visit for the holidays and, you know Carl, he came prepared.”

“Where is he?”

“Making a sad attempt to hit on Brendan.”

“Nice to see nothing’s changed.”

“Yup.”

“Hey girls,” Carl says with a dorky hand wave. He wiggles his fingers like a kids magician playing a trick. “Nice to see you.”

“Likewise, dorkface,” I say, grinning.

“She still got spunk,” Carl says.

“How’s life in LA?”

“Boring.”

“Boring? LA?”

“Yeah. We live just outside the city, and Mom banned me from setting foot in city limits.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Trust me, I was actually glad to be back here.”

Haylee winces. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

“Well, we have a D-list party,” Haylee says. “No booze, no drugs, no otherwise illegal substances. But we do have M&Ms.”

“M&Ms. The party food of champions.”

“Oh, and we have my sister’s fruit loop cake.”

“Her what?” I ask, staring at my girlfriend.

“She’s recently gotten into baking. But rather than following a recipe like a normal human, she just throws milk, flour, and sugar into a bowl with some fruit loops. And then shoves it in the oven for a while.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh, I gotta try this,” Carl says. “Fruit loops are my soul food.”

“Of course,” I say, snorting. “Cause you don’t eat enough rainbows on a daily basis.”

“See, now you’re getting it. Speaking of, how’s my favorite OTP?”

“Three months,” Haylee says. “And we haven’t killed each other yet, so I’d say we’re good.”

“Just good?” I say, feigning annoyance.

″Oooh,” Carl says. “Here comes Dramaa... Anyway, I gotta go, ladies. There’s a man over there calling my name.”

“You mean Brendan? Dude, have you not moved on yet? You know he’s not interested.”

“I told you LA was boring. Besides, the best part is the foreplay.” I make a gagging sound and look around the room.

“Shit,” I say, seeing everyone else in costume. “I gotta change.”

“Good thing you left your bag in the basement,” Haylee says. “Go change. I’ll be up here, offering free entertainment.”

“Save some free shit for me,” I say, risking a short kiss before I go.

As I change into my white shirt and pants, grabbing my bottle of fake blood, I hear Haylee yell something that sounds like “DJ IN THE HOUSEEE.”

I roll my eyes as I pull the apron over my head.

Now comes the fun part. Dumping fake blood on everything.

The challenge is doing it without making Haylee’s basement look like a murder scene. While they might appreciate the Halloween value, I doubt the Harrisons would like it very much if I stained their brand new carpets.

Luckily, my dad was a neat freak, so I know how to contain my mess. He always said that in science, there was no room for a speck of dust to get in the way. Even the smallest bit of dirt could ruin an experiment.

Sometimes, people say marriage is an experiment. I wonder, what speck of dust ruined his and mom’s relationship? Was it him? Her? Jacob? Was is Mac? Some other outside party?

Was it me?

Holding my rubber severed arm and my half-empty bottle of blood, I make my way back upstairs to join the party.

To my suprise, no one is blasting any music. Haylee is nowhere in sight. The party is on pause.

I walk over to Carl to ask where she is when she comes sprinting from her sister’s bedroom.

“Thank God, Ross. Come quick. It’s your sister.”

I jog after her as well as my loose-fitting pants allow.

“What happened?”

“She’s having some kind of seizure or something.”

“Grace?” I ask, almost screaming. “Grace!”

I look into the room. Grace is standing the corner, staring blankly into space.

“Rain. Rain. Rain. The rain is coming. The rain is coming. Rain. Rain Rain.” She whispers, barely audible.

“Fuck,” I say. “Not this again.”

“Again?”

“She keeps having these weird nightmares about rain. It happened last night, remember?”

“But has it ever happened during the day?”

“No. This is new. Mac would say it’s because the end is getting closer. Mom would say it’s because she needs therapy.”

“Which one do you believe?”

“Mom, obviously,” I say, though I’m not so sure that’s true. “Mac’s too into his religious bullshit.”

“Hay-Hay, what’s wrong with Grace?”

“She’s just having a nightmare,” I say. “She’ll be fine in a minute.”

In fact, it’s less than a minute. 14 seconds after we arrive, she snaps out of it; as suddenly as it came, it’s gone.

“Rosie?”

“Grace, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Rosie, make the rain go away.”

“The rain is gonna fall, Rosie. That’s just how rain works.”

“Your daddy did a bad thing.”

I freeze.

“Wha... what... Grace...”

“Your daddy did a bad thing.”

“Mac?”

“No. Your other daddy. The scientist.”

“What is she talking about?” Haylee asks, her voice cracking with fear.

“Haylee. I know this might sound stupid, but you need to get everyone out. Tell them to go home. If they can’t get home, keep them inside.”

“Wh-why?”

“Remember that article I wanted to show you? It was about the rain. I’m starting to think... it wasn’t just in my head. I think the article got taken down.”

“That’s... that’s insane!”

“Haylee. Please. I promise I’m not crazy. Just... trust me.”

The doorbell rings.

“That’s probably a kid asking for candy. Shit, Ross, what about all the kids outside? What can we do.”

“Nothing,” I say. “We can’t do anything for them.”

“But Ross—”

“The rain is coming.”

“Ross, I can’t. I can’t do it. This is too... too crazy. Too messed up. Let’s at least let this kid in. The rain hasn’t started yet. We can save a few of them.”

“You’re right,” I say.

We rush to the door.

That’s when the screaming starts.

And underneath the screams, I hear it.

The soft pitter-patter of rain.

I throw open the door, but it’s too late. The kid who rang our doorbell is melting. Dissolving before our eyes. His skin turns pink, then red, then purple, and then rots away, leaving nothing but bone and scraps of red tissue.

Haylee says nothing, but her cheeks puff, filling with vomit, and her eyes squeeze shut, filling with tears.

I say nothing. I do nothing. I feel nothing.

Haylee sprints outside, unable to take it.

Numbly, I follow her. I feel the fat droplets hiss on my skin, eating away. Soom, I will be a pile of bones, like the little kid.

The rain is here.

The rain is always teasing me. Like some I was old enough to remember when you could go out and dance around in it, now if you even stick your hand out the door you're dead.

I wish I could still dance in it though, fresh drops landing on your bare arms, bare toes splashing in puddles.

Society has changed because of the rain that we caused to be poisoned with our polution and disgusting habits that hurt the earh. Now all the news talks about is the rain, we have curfews and when there is storms, a few brave officers drive the streets in their cars looking to punish anyone who even walks towards the door or window.

I myself stare out the windows anyways, watching the rain drops hit the earth and gather in green tinted puddles. I like to read while it rains, it provides me with good memories.

The rain will always be in my heart and I can only wish for the day It is safe again.

The cola can was warm in my hands. I had been sat motionless for so long my legs had gone numb. Contemplating. Today would be my final day on this earth. A life so unaccomplished that no-one would mourn, even if anyone were left to mourn at all. The rain had taken everything and everyone. Of course there were many survivors, scattered wherever the rain couldn't reach, but trapped and separate with so little communication since the acid eroded through phone lines and signal towers I might as well be the only human on the planet. And as it turns out, I don't do so well with being alone.

There just didn't seem much left to live for. Humans are 80% water; we need water to live as does everything else on the planet, and when the very thing you need to survive becomes deadly what can you do? There's a finite supply of canned and bottled beverages to live off until the rain becomes neutral again, if it ever does. The damage we had done to our planet to cause it's wrath could be irreversible.

Yes, today would be the final day.

I took a swig of the warm cola and dragged myself to standing. I glanced around my front-room, cluttered with rubbish and little else. A TV sat in the corner that no longer served any purpose. Mostly my days were spent reading books, sleeping, and trying to avoid comfort-eating my rationed supplies. I dug through a pile and found a chocolate bar I had been saving. I might as well eat it now, it wouldn't do me any good soon.

As I let the sweet chocolate melt in my mouth I walked and stood at my door. I could hear the heavy droplets drumming the ground outside. The door itself had done well to stand up to the rain for this long; much better than other areas of the house where the bricks had eroded to dust. And currently this door was the only thing protecting me from being eroded to dust myself.

A thought crossed my mind. Hopeful. Stupid. Perhaps it had been long enough that the rain was rebalancing? Perhaps I could go outside and it would just be regular rain; cool and refreshing on my face. I could open my mouth and fill myself up with fresh, clean water. Gulp it down and laugh and splash in the harmless puddles like I did as a child. Hopeful. Stupid. I knew what awaited on the other side.

I opened the door, and stepped out into the rain.

While some find the thunderstorms to be frightening events, I find them rather comforting. When the cumulus clouds began to roll in, I collected some pillows and blankets and made my way to the attic window. It was the perfect spot to watch the rain pour down from the heavens. I curled into the small nook with a comforting book and a hot cup of tea.

I watched as the wall of rain moved in over the land. The horizon grew dark with heavy clouds, casting shadows on treetops and over the fenced farmland of my home. As the rain glided over the house, the tap-tap-tapping of raindrops drummed on the steel-shingled roof, and the house groaned with the gravity of the wind. I held my breath for a moment, afraid the house was going to topple as it creaked. I waited, then released the shaking breath.

The wind howled and the thunder gave a distant growl. On my knees, I peered over the ledge to watch the cattle run into the barn as the rain picked up. A small calf lingered behind, slow but frantic. Its thin legs bucked and it cried, yelping out to the herd that corralled inside the barn. The safety of the barn was still so far away. It ran as fast as its feeble legs would, but a sudden trip sent it rolling into the wet, trampled ground. It howled as the rain hammered on, slicing at the creature with its sting. The brown fur began to dissipate and curl away from the raw, red flesh, burning the poor thing. As I watched, the creature’s blood turned to red steam and the red muscle simmered to a brown, searing the edges of the fatted parts. After a few minutes, the flesh fell away from the bone and the howling had ceased. What once had been a newborn calf now lay as a pile of seared meat and pearled bone.

I looked around the rest of the visible yard in search of any other victims to the rain’s fury. I found none. With a sigh, I sat back down in the nook of the attic to peer at the blackened sky, waiting patiently for the next deep rumble of thunder. I enjoyed nights like this; there were no obligations, no place to be-- just the seductive growl of the sky, the rhythmic dance of raindrops, and the promise of seared meat in the morning.

The Rain Challenge

Its coming.

The dreaded storm. The rain. Its coming.

We’re huddled up in our shelters, watching the acid lace the windows in tiny vile droplets. The barren land outside stares back at us emptily. The grass is burnt to a crisp and the trees once hanging low with fruit and clustered with pastel flowers stand lonely and bare. The swings have turned maroon with rust, creaking every now and then with the occasional gust of sour wind.

Poor Gus mumbles something under his breath. I turn around to see him talking in his sleep, his face a wrinkled canvas painted with worry. He lost his ability to form proper words due to the tragedy of June 2023.

It was a hot summer day and I was playing with Sienna and Cara in the garden when the sky suddenly turned dark and rain started to pitter patter on the pavement. But as soon as the very first droplets hit the nape of my neck, I felt a scorching burn, as if the water were eating its way into my skin. The girls started wailing and rubbing at their reddened arms so I ushered them into the house. That was when I saw Gus dozing off in his lawn chair out in the open. We had screamed our lungs sore but he wouldn’t budge. At long last, I found a plastic sheet in the shed wrapped it around myself and ran to rescue him. But it was too late. The damage had been done. All I could see was red. There were blisters on his tongue, thick blood dribbling down his chin staining his white cotton shirt as it made its way down. I had to refrain from retching and dragged his heavy form to the house, shutting the doors close behind me and placing towels at the ends to stop the water from entering the house. Ever since that day we’ve kept Gus with us in our shelter every monsoon season, thankful for the roof that keeps us sheltered from the bursting, thundering clouds above.

My mom told me that there was a forest near where she grew up as a little girl. She told me that you are not allowed to go there, because the land is cursed. Mom told me that a local chief's daughter was in love with the woodcutter's son. The two loved each other but the wood cutter's father wouldn't let them marry. Since firewood was their main way of living, the cheif went to the shaman who cursed the land. It would rain a posionous rain that burned the ground and so corrosive it stripped the bark from the trees. You also couldn't drink it or it would kill you, and couldn't touch it unless you wanted a nastly burn. That was the exact way my mom tried to explain acid rain to me when I was little, and how it was a huge problem where she grew up.