A Meal under the Rain

The
clock chimed, it was 12:00 am

The
heavens cried as though that was its last

Droplets
of rain dampened the dark, well-kept grounds

The
pots were full to its brim; it seemed that the plants would drown

No
sign of light was visible around this serene neighbourhood

As
the downpour continued, so was the howling of the chained dogs that filled the
silent air

No
one would ever dare to go outside at this weather; the shower would hurt you
like bullets wounding a man

In
the middle of the street was a square monument where all the village’s heroes’
stood

These
statues, some made of rock and marble, were maintained everyday by the families
of the remembered

No
matter how noble these men and women were, the rain did not care and continued
to soak them in its never-ending tears.

Among
the hundred polished and well retained effigies, there was this one dilapidated
plinth

The
stone plinth had no man or woman that stood on it, but only a stone carved handsome,
bay horse with no rider

But
there was a man that sat on a rusty throne in front of this figure

He
was quietly having his meal on a golden plate and a silver cup lain on a wooden
table

It
looked as if; he did not know what was happening around him, he was so focused slicing
his lamb chops

Everything
seemed to be a victim of the heavy rain, except for him

Despite
the harsh weather, he and his food were all dry

It
might occur to someone who might pass by that this man was in the wrong place
and time.

Well
he had not bothered to notice that the cracks of the monument behind him were
already being filled by rainwater and that the storm had caused his
surroundings to be flooded.

As
he finished with his last chop, he picked up the cup and drank from it

He
then stood up and climbed the stone stairs up to his horse like nothing
happened.

The
town’s clock chimed again, it was 1:00 am.

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