Day 277

The rain screamed at him as he ran.
He wasn't supposed to be outside.
It had been so sunny just a few minutes ago.

The further he ran, the thicker the rain fell.
His house was close by, he should have been there by now.
Maybe he missed his street?
It was so hard to tell with the sky pouring so.

The radio had warned him about this.
Why didn't he listen?
He usually followed what it said to the letter.
It had steered him clear of many troubles.

Dark Sunday, the Bloomsbury Mist, Four Twenty three.
The radio had warned him each and every time.
What made this time different?

Wherever the rain was guiding him to, that would be the answer.

He passed by the streets like a ghost though they seemed more ghostly to him.
The rain made them little more than grey outlines.
Everything seemed unreal.
Unravelled.
Undone.

He began to slow down.
The rain had led him... to his home?

The front door was wide open,  the lights inside so welcoming.
With great relief he walked inside.
Eagerly he sought out the radio and the soothing cries it gave forth.

The radio was nowhere to be found.
His whole house far different than he remembered.

The lights switched themselves off.

The front door slammed shut.

He should have listened.