He outlasted the dog. That old coward ran inside at the second crack of thunder.
Lighting flashed. The mist of pouring rain floated beneath the rickety porch and kissed his skin. He resisted the urge to care. In another context, it might have felt nice.
Soon the porch would shake. The house would bend. It would probably break. But he made his choice to stay.
All of the citronella candles had died but one. A brave, yellow little thing. He’d sit outside until it died, too.
He smiled at it, watching it dance with him in the whistling wind.
About the Creator
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