Stories That The Rain Tell

Heavy rain is falling, invisible in the blackness, seeping through the earth, carrying its memories & stories with it, remembering every word & every thought & every life it has touched. Tonight, the rain is full of ghosts, it is brimming over with the stories which, to them, are so familiar. Oh, so many stories. 

And the windows can hear those stories, and they repeat them to the empty darkness. They know everything, every secret whispered in the dusty twilight, every word spoken to the wind. Some days, when they can’t keep it in, they begin to speak, their voices light and airy, like low cries, or the wind through the trees. Right now, as the cold creeps under the doors & covers the floor with a thin layer of frost; they are whispering one story in particular, one memory that the rain is shrieking. 

Today, they are extra loud, and for the first time, if I listen really hard, I can hear what they are saying.

Footnotes: Prompt used. Prologue to a new short story.