Spring Rain

Spring Rain

The spring morning smelled of dank earth. Dense clouds, thick and rolling, hung heavy on the horizon. A few leftover drops from last night’s shower ran in rivulets down the drain where she could hear the water surging beneath the city.   

She couldn’t cry anymore.

Her throat burned like tears, but the rain that fell from bloated clouds could not fall from empty eyes. Her cheek still ached from his back-handed blow. She traced shaky fingers across the swell. At least her injury came from his open hand and not his fist this time, or a belt like last Memorial Day when Patty from down the road found her sprawled on the tile, beaten bloody.

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