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The clouds were rolling in. He smiled as he watched the skies darken. It was about time.

For too long, the weather forecast had been steady and unchanging. Sun. Sun today, sun tomorrow, sun last week, sun this week. He hated it. The heat made him tired and antsy. He was not a summer person.

He longed for the rain. A heavy, unceasing downpour; cooling, cleansing, washing away the heat. Washing away the dust and the dirt and the muck.

He slipped on a thin plastic jacket as the first raindrops splattered against his window, and slung his bag over his shoulder. It had been packed for too long.

As he walked out into the rain it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. An even greater one would be lifted soon, now that it was raining. Now that he could hunt.

He always hunted in the rain. It made the prey easy to catch. They walked with their heads down, hoods up, didn’t hear his footsteps over the noise of the rain drumming down. It drove potential witnesses indoors. It washed away the evidence, sent the blood swirling down the drains.

He loved the rain.

© Kari Fay

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