The Walk

Just did a little stream of conscious writing, and wound up with this.

The rain came cascading like a sea of grass in a heavy wind, undulating as it pounded the lone figure walking against the rancorous storm. The shape walked slowly and without purpose, shuffling as if lost in thought with head and hat bowed against the zephyrs that soaked every inch. He passed under the flickering almost nauseating fluorescent glow of the street lights, much like a wild animal on the hunt is seen flitting among trees. A hand was shoved deep into a pocket fondling something of great interest; so much that he was oblivious to those whom he passed. Those whose hue and cry would be deafening to one not so lost in himself, so far lost that one would expect that he could be only imagining this night in his own head.

However the crack of thunder and the rumble that shook organs of the most stead fast individual disproved that in the man’s mind; but his stride remained un-changed. A dim store front, with it’s wares crowding into the small panes in a dizzying array of intrigue halted the distracted man in mid step. He sloughed off what the lazy observer would think were buckets of cloud discharge, the little metal awning pinged with the occasional hail stone as the storm vied for his attention. He reached a soaked and waterlogged hand toward the door knob, it groaned softly as he pushed it in to the tinny chime’s distaste. The proprietor looked up with a vague smile tinged with the suspicion of many long days behind the stained and warped counter. They nodded as the man dripped his way down the cramped aisles, that had a dull illumination to guide his weary eyes; which searched until they became fixated on the one thing he cocked his head to the right for. After a few long moments of running through the labyrinth of old memories, he took that object from the cool shelf and made his way back to the mousy haired lady.

Her hands trembled from the many long hours of toil they had spent in anticipation of some small reward. Her slumped shoulders worked feverishly as they exchanged currency for the now bagged item. Her expression never changed nor did she look more than lightly at the man; their conversation was light social fluff that most primates would make with self concerned grunts.

The storm angered by his lack of attention, began to fling hail stones the size of peas as he emerged from the store. With collar turned up he once again pressed on regardless of the fury that the scorned storm threw at him, the accusations whipped accross his face with every gust biting to the bone with every step.

Time faded with the final keens of the storm, the man flowed a bit more quickly down the street his mind suddenly resolute and his feet determined. He began looking at the small and festively lit windows that were the bridge between he and the warm denizens. His eyes fixated upon a lightly colored door, one that had become almost his door, he wrung the last bit of moisture from his hair before placing the broad brimmed protector back upon his head.

The simple concrete slab that served as a step was grey and cold, he fished the treasured and protected object from his coat pocket and laid it beside the small bundle from the store. He squared his damp shoulders, raised a hand forming a fist; he then stopped himself. Closing his eyes he became lost, sighed and turned to retrace his steps; not turning to see the explosion of light behind him or the sorrowful expression of she that held the door wide. His shoulders hunched as he slinked back, lost in a different storm but one who’s lightening had struck hardest. So a drift was he that he did not feel the arm slip into his and the soft and choked words whisper yes.

Reminds me of Isabelle Allende's writing. Pretty and sad.