Eyes on Final Fantasy Forums > General > Writer's Corner > Rainy Day

[Rase]

EDIT: Whoops, forgot the little [s] thing. Sorry about that, I haven't posted a topic in this forum for over a year.

A short story that I wrote for no real reason. Enjoy, critique, criticize, etc.

Credit Odd Eye for proofreading and corrections.
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It was raining again.

This was the third day in a row. While not unusual for early November, it was certainly unexpected this year, as the weather had been consistently sunny since March, making for one of the longest droughts in the city’s history. Now it seemed like Mother Nature was making up for lost time, having suddenly realized that she had forgotten to turn on the shower for nine months.

Remaining motionless, Walter listened to the arrhythmic splatter of the water hitting the pavement above him. He had always hated the rain, the noisy way it had about it. The way it had a hand in taking his life away. He had relished the long respite from it, and now it seemed that he would have to continue to endure its torments.

After a few futile moments of attempting to go back to sleep Walter slowly got up, one of his now-calloused hands pressing down on his knee while the other, planted firmly on the ground, kept him steady. Kneeling over to keep from knocking his head on the solid ceiling above, he made his way out from under the bridge that was his refuge, the sound of cars now beginning to be heard overhead as they passed, their tires sloshing through the puddles forming on the road.

Standing to his full height as he entered the downpour, Walter was well over six feet tall. Though only forty-seven years old, he was often mistaken for being much older, thanks mainly to his graying hair and wrinkled, tired face. He had a short salt-and-pepper beard, above which rested two weary green eyes. Flipping up the brim of his yellow rain hat and popping out his yellow slicker to straighten it out, he looked remarkably like the Gordon fisherman. All he needed now was a boat and he’d be in business.

Walter Parkman had been a fairly average man for the majority of his life. Excelling in football throughout his high school career, he had been forced to stop playing after a particularly painful sack while in college that had put him in a coma for a few days. At age twenty-four, he met Sarah, a nurse at the hospital he was in. Within three months they were engaged, and by the summer of the following year they were married. The fact that their first child came only four months afterwards raised more than a few eyebrows, but both seemed to be so loving and caring when it came to the other that many people respected them. They lived out the American life, with Walter rising through the ranks of a hardware company, eventually becoming manager of his branch. They had no more children, and cherished their one, a boy named Noah, like he was made of priceless gems.

Then it happened. While out boating one day with a business associate, Noah, then twenty-one was caught in a freak storm, one that would continue unabated for many days and nights. When the boat was finally recovered Noah was not found, and so ended the lives of Walter and Sarah, in different ways. Distressed, despondent, and utterly broken, Sarah fell into an inescapable depression, one that would eventually lead to her suicide at the hands of a steak knife. Walter, his world completely shattered, quit going to his job, eventually losing it entirely. He lived off a severance package for a few months, then turned to selling his possessions, and finally his house just last month.

Since then, Walter had managed to get by with what was needed. Doing odd jobs, mostly manual labor, had hardened his heart as quickly as it did his hands. Most people were suspicious of him, always eyeing him warily and snickering or talking when they thought he wouldn’t notice. He had grown to care little for the opinions of others, instead focusing on what was important, though he often debated with himself over what this was.

Having managed to save up enough money to take a day off from working (he did this every two weeks or so), Walter decided to head to Elijah’s Grill, a restaurant about three miles away. It would be dry in there, and hopefully something good would be on the television. Waiting for a break in the traffic, Walter sprinted across the street, managing to hit not one but two large puddles along the way. His tattered New Balances now thoroughly soaked, he swore aloud at the rain, staring at the sky and screaming. This seemed to gain the amusement of numerous cars that passed by; their honking horns blared out through the sound of the downpour, falling on Walter’s deaf ears. Some parents that were out for a rainy stroll with their young son scowled at Walter as they covered their son's virgin ears. Paying more notice to them, Walter simply responded by showing off an avian friend of his before stomping in the direction of Elijah’s.

It was the beginning of rush hour when he arrived at the eatery. The bell above the door releasing a merry little jingle upon his entry and Walter’s shoes squeaked across the floor to a spot at the bar. Hockey was playing on the television in the corner: Sharks and Panthers, nothing special. He took a seat, catching the eye of the current bartender, a man named Isaiah, and giving him a signal to his usual: a Bud and tuna melt with extra mayonnaise. As he waited for his order, Walter noticed something rather small in the corner of his view, coming in from the door. He tilted his head slightly to get a better look; it was a boy, probably around twelve, completely soaked by the rain and looking fairly miserable. A red backpack was firmly resting on his shoulders as he walked over and took a seat next to Walter. He gazed up at him with a brazen look on his face, jutting forth a hand in welcome.

“‘Lo there gramps, name’s Thomas, though folks just call me Tom. How about yourself?”

Raising his eyebrows at the sight of the incredulous lad and his thick accent – something he couldn’t really put his finger on – Walter stared at the boy for a while before turning back to the bar, leaving the proffered hand hanging in the air as he responded.

“Don’t you know to never talk to strangers kid? Could be dangerous.”

Unaffected, the boy simply drew back his hand and continued talking as if nothing had happened.

“Just came to town miself, caught a ride with a trucker who didn’t ask many questions. Thing is, I had to fork over me last few bucks for gas money. Can he stand to help a starving young’un out?”

Allowing himself a short chuckle, Walter leaned his had back and closed his eyes, the water falling in drops from his hat and spattering the linoleum below. He kept this position for a moment, letting on that he was considering his options, before returning his gaze to the counter, responding curtly.

“No.”

Now seemingly perturbed, Thomas began to do what any twelve-year old who doesn’t get their way does – annoy their adversary. He began to poke Walter, the exact same spot on his right arm every time, as he continued to talk.

“Comon man, adults always have tons of dough to spend on useless junk like vases and crap, why can’t ya spare a few bucks for someone in need.”

Had this boy been at least six years older, Walter was certain that he would have decked him clear across the room. However, there was something he couldn’t explain, some sort of kinship he felt with this fiery spirit. As he thought, Isaiah returned with his meal, batting at the boys prodding hand.

“G’way boy, leave Walter here in peace afore I throw you out.”

Raising his hand to signify that wasn’t necessary, Walter looked up.

“Don’t worry about him Isaiah, just bring me another sandwich, cheapest you’ve got, and a glass of water.”

Muttering under his breath about the state of today’s youth, Isaiah returned to the kitchen with the new order. Thomas looked after him, than back at his benefactor.

“Walter huh? You sure are a stingy one.”

After taking a long drink from his beer, Walter stared back at him; the tuna melt rested in one hand as he spoke.

“I don’t want to hear any whining from you boy, I just spent… hold on… twenty percent of my money on you, so you’d better suck up and enjoy it.”

With that he began to wolf down his food, periodically taking a drink between bites. This last statement seemed to leave the boy nonplussed, for he sat there quietly until his own meal arrived and then began to eat without saying a word. The check was brought out (eleven dollars and forty-eight cents) and paid, and still nothing. This carried on for ten minutes; with Walter finishing his own food and watching Thomas slowly work on his. Finally having enough, Walter spoke up.

“Look now boy, what’s got you suddenly pulling a silent treatment on me? What’d I say?”

Looking up, a little startled, Thomas’ eyes looked around the room a little before he responded, much quieter than before.

“Well sir, it’s jest that I’ve never been one for receiving much, and so what you said kinder surprised me. I guess it may be me attitude, but most people don’t much take a liking to me.”

As Walter watched the boy look down at the ground he was reminded of his own son. Never the popular one in middle school, he had come home crying several times a year over various things. Seeing this boy, Walter began to feel the first bit of compassion toward someone else in over four months. Thinking over what he could do, Walter finally grasped onto a choice. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his carefully folded dollar bills, some damp from the rain. He didn’t notice Thomas’ eyes looking up at him as he counted out some money.

“Listen boy, I like you. As clichéd as it probably sounds, you remind me of my own –“

That was as a far as he got. With that Thomas snatched at the money, pulling the slick bills out of Walters grasp and dashing for the door. It took less than a second for realization to kick in and Walter roared out of the door after the pint-sized con. Spying him scampering across street, Walter gave chase, the rain falling in sheets now.

It was a half hour later that the ambulance arrived. The driver of the truck was standing on the side of the road, answering questions as best as his frazzled mind could. Onlookers and rubberneckers alike were trying to peer over the police lines to get a look at what was happening. A red backpack had made its way through the crowd and now stood staring, a blank look on its owner's face as he looked upon the white body bag laying on the ground. A yellow rain hat, turned upside down, collected water from the sky.

[oddler]

That's a pretty darn good story to write for no reason. I enjoyed it a lot.

There are a few grammatical things here and there that I spotted but I didn't latch onto them. I can proof if you really want me to. I really liked the style in which you wrote it. Good job.

[Rase]

Well first, thank you for the compliments, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

I'd be much obliged if you would proofread it, assuming your willing to. I've found that I have trouble doing it to my own work, as I already now all that will happen and so become bored and don't notice certain things.

[oddler]

Give me a bit and I'll PM you a copy with suggestions.