The Pluviophile (An Original Short Story)

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I love the rain.

I love the sound that it makes when it touches the earth, the rhythmic patterns it produces as it patters on the roof. It's like an ethereal symphony that we never deserved to hear. Orchestrated by the gods, giving us a glimpse of their magnificence.

Empowering, smooth, calm, heavenly.

I love the sound of the rain.

I love the rain.

I love how the smell of the rain blends perfectly with the dry, solid ground. It makes anyone want to breathe it all in. It makes me want to bathe in its fragrance. It fuels my imagination, making me feel more alive. It gives me a kind of motivation I cannot turn down. A tempting gratification that only the rain and I knows about.

I love the smell of the rain.

I love the rain.

I love the picturesque view from my window when it rains. Every drop looks delicate and fragile -- so pure, so innocent. It crashes down like a wave of forgiveness, showering the dirt with its beauty and vibrance. Concealing the things you don't need to see. 

I love the sight of the rain.

I love the rain.

I love how its presence gives me an opportunity to get away from reality -- providing comfort and relief, confidence and strength. I love how it touches my skin, like a mother caressing her sleeping infant -- a touch of guidance and protection.

Strong but gentle. 

Loud but secretive.

A perfect accomplice.

I love the rain.

I love how it drowns out the screams that all of my victims make before I slit their throats. Their voices annoys me, but the rain had always been there -- distant but supportive. And it cleans up my mess every time, rinsing away any evidence of my sinful amusement.

That's why I love the rain.

And I will always love the rain.

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Hi everyone! Do you love the rain? hahaha! Well, thanks for reading this! Keep safe!

Love. Love. Love.