NEW FICTION:

He stood in the pouring summer rain, and wondered what his story would be. Would he be pretty, would he be rich? He blinked slowly to himself as the rain poured. He was wet and smothered, he was wet yet he was golden. He closed his eyes and listened beyond the roar of the rain, listened beyond the gush of the water across his soaked feet, beyond his dripping face and hands - but he heard nothing. He breathed slowly, carefully - he hummed, he murmured. He was alone with the rain. As his soaking shirt stuck to his bare back, he wondered whether there would be rainbows day after day.