Free Extreme Fiction


    Robin decided that the problem was the rain.
    He sat in it for hours, on his neighbor's cement steps, as the rain drenched his hair and clothes and created a miniature waterfall extending from the base of his neck to the small of his back. Yep, it was the rain all right. If the rain would only stop then everything would be fine again. He'd have a home to return to again. Life would be worth living again.
    Only the rain refused to cease.
    He looked up at the sky and begged the rain with all of his being to stop, yet it just came down harder. It came down so hard that it seemed to be punishing the very earth itself, beating it down, washing it away.
    If only it would wash away his memories of the hideous day he'd just lived through. How he longed for that. But, no, the memories were still fresh, they were still sharp, sharp as razors, as sharp as reality, and as much as Robin tried to ward them away so that they wouldn't slice his insides to pieces, they continued to return again and again, tormenting him mercilessly, the ring and the dream, the fight with his stepfather, the hospital, finding his mother murdered in her own kitchen, her neck twisted and broken by her husband of less than a year, and then...