Note: I tried and failed to provide download links for Kindle (.mobi) and iBooks (.epub) files. This is a note to myself to possibly fix this in the future. Until then, enjoy the story below!

Cheers.

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The Color of Rain, a Short Story By David Smart

I thought while staring across the empty streets from my apartment. The pattering of raindrops splashed against the window before me, sending tributaries gliding down the glassy veil. The rain poured down in sheets, giving shape to an otherwise formless world. On the darkest nights, it was only by the light of the shining street lamps that the world came to a single point. Everything else beyond it was lost to the emptiness.

Was all of life like this? I wondered. Everything brought into context, existence and definition not by its own being but by the world surrounding it? Are space, time, and self otherwise meaningless concepts with no separation between them in my subjective reality?

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

The words broke my spellbound gaze. How easily the darkness swallows everything. My attention was no exception.

I turned away from the glass. She stood in the doorway, her hair tied back, a green blouse draped across her hourglass figure.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, brushing off my thoughts.

She plopped down next to me on the couch and leaned her head against my shoulder. I ran my fingers through her thin, silky hair.

“Wanna watch a movie?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

Soon the movie played out on the television across the room and she looked up at me, her blue eyes twinkling in the dim light of the living room.

“We’re pretty adventurous,” she said.
I laughed, and her hand fell upon my thigh. I grabbed it tightly, wrapped her fingers in mine and she let out a guttural purr. I bared my teeth and smiled.

The Rembrandt Bomb held all the predictable twists, turns and beats one might expect from any story of its kind. The protagonist’s best friend killed about halfway through—shocking to some, but he was standing much too close to the hero. I yawned then glanced at my watch.

The flick was three-fourths of the way through when sleep crawled beneath my eyelids.

She turned to me. “I’m starved.”

New life flowed into my mind and body. No matter how small the task, it was purpose. I’d do anything for her.

I smiled, got off the couch and simmered some oil and veggies in the pan. She snagged a guitar and we sang, danced, kissed, then ate the coconut Thai curry on the sofa.

We un-paused the movie, the heist executed to near-perfection, the casino with no clue of the perpetrators, that poor guy, dead, and all his comrades a bit richer because of it. One or two scenes must have remained when I turned to her.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked. It felt to me like the most important question one could possibly ask another person.

Her eyebrow raised. “Is this a trick question?”

I slapped her arm and laughed. “No, just curious.”

She narrowed her eyes and grinned.

“Green,” she said.

I smiled, nodded, and went back to watching the movie.

“Why?” she asked, much later.

I looked at her and shrugged. “I guess I just needed to hear it again.”

The final scenes stretched on into infinity. By the time the credits rolled, she was dead asleep, her head heavy against my shoulder. I walked her to bed, tucked her beneath the covers, then went back to my window to watch the night once more.

It was the same but different. Creeping through the cracks of the old apartment window was winter’s presence, the glass blurred in a frosty veil of white fog. I brought my hand to it and wiped away a portal to the outside world.

It was like looking to the bottom of a deep well. There was something there, I thought. I just couldn’t reach it with my gaze no matter how hard I strained. I wanted to touch it with my eyes.

A flock of headlights dashed by every now and again on down the road, illuminating the world before the darkness reclaimed itself once more.

It was about that time I thought I could make something out from across the street—a long, black vehicle parked in the lot. It was there for a split second, then I blinked.

Gone.

Must be nothing.

Other than this figure in the black, it was but a normal night. It remained that way until he showed up.

Seven knocks erupted from the door and invaded my ear holes. The sounds were patterned in sets of twos and threes. It was him. No question about it. When you come to know someone so well as I do him, you know the sound of their knuckles, no matter what door they knock up against.

I sighed, rose from the couch and cracked open the front door. I squinted as the bright light of the hallway poured into my pupils.

There he stood wearing a black wide-brimmed hat, a rain-soaked jacket draped down to his ankles, and his eyes were big and filled with ideas.

“You’ve got to see this,” he said. “Let’s go.” He beckoned with one hand and began to turn.

I blinked hard, peering through blinding light.

“It’s late,” I said.

He lowered his head slightly and glared at me. It shook me from my daze.

“What?”

“Pack your stuff,” he said.

“Why?”

His gaze held, unflinchingly so. It was a strange request, but I’d gotten used to such things from such people. Especially him. In fact, it was the ordinary requests that confused me.

I had no other choice.

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Five minutes.”

“Hurry,” he said. “I’ll wait outside.”

Then he turned away, vanishing into the white fluorescent light of the hallway.

I shut the door and turned around; my portal across the room was losing strength to nature’s cold grasp, sealing itself off once again. Then, somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt confirmed in my suspicions of the long black vehicle. I had indeed seen what I thought to have imagined.

She was stirring when I got back to the room.

“Who was that?” she asked.

I walked over, flipped on the bedside lamp and began searching the carpet for clothes.

“Was that who I think it was?”

I nodded while shoving my appendages into pants, boots, then jacket.

She sighed. “What’s he want this time?”

“Wouldn’t say.”

“That’s weird,” she said, “But you’re probably used to that by now.”

I chuckled then she rose from bed.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Her arms were halfway into woolen sleeves by the time I had finished the question.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s new.”

“Things change. I’ll try not to stand too close.” She winked and went to the kitchen.

I snagged my briefcase, ate from the fridge a spoonful of leftover curry, licked the spoon clean, locked the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

“You sure about this?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said, feeling for my wallet in my back pocket.

She shook her head and laughed.

A long black limousine waited in the parking lot. It was the same one from the window. We sprinted through the flurry of rain, our clothes soaking, boots splashing in puddles along the way. We hopped in the back of the limo and slammed the door shut.

It was silent and empty inside but raindrops pelted the roof like muffled fireworks. I threw my briefcase to the floorboards. We waited and looked back and forth at each other. I ran my hands along the black leather upholstery of the seat beside me.

“Nice ride,” I said, nodding.

She shrugged.

Time passed then stood still again.

She looked at me. I crawled my way to the tinted window separating the front and back carriages and gave it seven knockings. The window crept down and he sat at the driver’s seat.

“I thought you said hurry?” I asked.

“Chill,” he said. The window sluggishly crept back up into its place and sealed him off.

I turned to her and we exchanged looks. Moments later, Mu, a 90s pop-rock band, began playing over the stereo, the car jerked forward beneath our feet, and I grabbed onto the seat next to me to keep from toppling over.

As the car rolled out the parking lot, I crept to the back and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. She smiled, bit her lip, and we kissed.

The car sped through the slippery streets, and we were mid-song when the music quieted and the window rolled back down again. He reached his hand behind his head through the space between us, holding an envelope.

“Here,” he said.

I shuffled to the front and snagged it. I joined her in the back then peeled it open to reveal the contents.

A photograph.

I stared at the picture. It was the scene of a beautiful, rolling, green-grass hillside overlooked by distant snow-capped mountains. A moose and a skunk stood in the foreground.

My eyebrow shot up.

“What is this?” I asked him.

No response.

I stared back at the photograph. Beneath the open blue sky at the forefront of the photo sat two animals, side by side, as if they knew each other quite well. I narrowed my eyes to further examine the figures.

“A moose and a skunk?” she asked.

I placed my palm against my face and she looked at me. I scooted to the front and knocked at the window.

“Can we please turn back around now?” I asked.

His voice came over the stereo: “Look closer.”

I turned over the photo, shuffled through the envelope to make sure there was nothing missing, but there was only the photograph of the moose and the skunk.

I glanced back to the image. Apart from the distant glacial mountains, the moose was by far the most imposing of the two creatures, standing majestic and regal against the horizon, its twelve-pointed antlers reaching toward the heavens. The skunk, meanwhile, stood proudly on hind-legs beside it in the grasslands, its furry tail waving in the wind.

I cocked my head back in thought. Where the hell are we going? The city of Nakamoto was disappearing behind us and mountains were hundreds of miles away. The highway would soon fall away to the ocean. There would be no rolling green grass hills or snow-capped mountains for hours.

I was lost.

“You see?” he asked.

I tried once more, and she with me, glancing over my shoulder.

She then pointed to the moose.

“What’s that…?” she asked.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed it too: a green star, as bright as lichen moss, painted against its side. On the skunk, too, another green star, imprinted across its belly.

“The stars?” she asked.

The limousine pulled into the parking lot of an old diner and came to a halt.

“Good,” said the voice over the intercom.

We looked at each other with scrunched faces.

“Come,” he said, “You don’t have much time.”

With that, he ran out of the car and we watched as he disappeared into the diner. We shook our heads and followed him, first through the downpour, fighting against the winds, and then stepped through the front doors of the diner.

Inside it was bright like rooms in a hospital, and the place was dead silent. I looked around. There was no one here.

“Where’d he go?” I asked, turning to her. Her face looked bewildered and perplexed.

She tugged on my jacket and I turned. Two large figures sat in the booth at the farthest corner of the diner.

I blinked hard and shook my head. It was two animals, sitting in the diner, reading newspapers. There was no other way to describe the situation.

I rubbed my eyes but this was undoubtedly where I belonged. An existential purpose flooded my veins.

He came out of the bathroom, pushed open the front door of the diner and said: “Come back out when you’re done.” He bolted out into the rain toward the vehicle. We were alone, the four of us.

Time crawled. We glanced at each other then stepped toward their booth.

They set down their newspapers and turned around with eyes narrowed. The skunk took a sip of his coffee then gestured his paw for us to sit across from them.

“Moose is impatient and I’m afraid your time in short. Take a seat.”

We eased slowly into the booth. I looked to the moose. His hair was brown and coarse and his antlers nearly filled the space between floor and ceiling. He lifted his gaze, cleared its throat then looked out the window.

“Do you know why I love the rain?” asked the moose.

We looked at each other, furrowed our brows, then turned back.

“Is this a trick question?” I asked.

The moose shook his head.

She looked at me, then back at the moose. “Is it because the rain gives shape to an otherwise formless world?” she asked.

The moose and skunk looked at each other, took one last sip of their coffees, and nodded. Together they crawled out of the booth, stood at once, and walked out the front doors of the diner. I pressed my hand against the window pane and opened a portal. The rain was falling in sheets as they walked beneath the streetlights and I watched as their colors melted away from their figures, dripping down to the pavement like spilled buckets of paint. Pools of brown, white and green liquids shimmered and faded in the rainfall, their essence disappearing into the darkness of a bottomless well.

“What are you looking at?” she asked me.

——

End.

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Dear Reader,

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Thank you and wishing you well today.

Love,

David