Rain.

He had wanted to go home. I dropped him off, watched as he sauntered off into the alley, lost behind a curtain of rain. I sighed as I leaned back against the seat and shifted the gear into drive. I could barely make out the road ahead with the psychedelic light circles clouding over the windscreen and my wiper of no use. For a few seconds, I fumbled with my phone to call up a friend, any friend, but gave up when I had to manoeuvre a corner. I drove around the city streets thinking of old, forgotten faces. Somehow, rain does this to me - getting all mellow and sentimental. Pulling up at a 24-hour mart, I turned off the engine, brave the rain to grab myself a six-pack and hurried back to the car, catching pearls of raindrops in the waves of my hair. I lit a cigarette. It somehow tasted bitter on my lips so I flicked it out the window into a puddle.

I took a few gulps from a can of Heineken and remembered long ago the days of hot chocolate, a book and a cosy armchair by the window on rainy days like this. It was definitely happier then. But tonight, those bygone days remained a fading polaroid that would lose its memory sooner than later and I could no longer turn back.

I thought of dying and how I would want to die in the rain. At least, if no one else did, the heavens cried for me.

*Word token courtesy of Phaik San.