No one knew where they came from. They only knew that it was while the weather had turned unusually strange. It had begun raining in sheets; walls of quantimous amounts of water cascading mercilessly as if someone had turned the tap on at max from above.
It’s only a little rain, many had thought, expecting it to end soon, that the grey ceiling their tin-box city had newly incorporated would soon dispel in the wind. Days passed, however, and the rain fell unfaltering. The clouds only gathered and condensed into darker greys and fiercer water bullets; the walls of rain became brick walls. People began breathing in water instead of air. When the first death by drowning was announced people stayed indoors more, waiting it out, the brave few who had to leave covered their mouths with masks before facing the screaming new only to return quickly with pellet bruises from the rain’s force. The rain didn’t stop, those sheets of white-metal water fell and fell, blinding the city and isolating everyone within their own islands.
It was on the third day the elephants stepped out of these sheets of rain. Nobody knew where they came from; the zoo creatures had all been safely locked away and accounted for. Nobody saw them clearly, they could only just make out their silhouettes stampeding through the streets of new york, as they peered through their tin-box windows. They heard the elephants trumpets bellow beneath the roaring rain.
..currently reading Stephen King-11.22.63, I’ve noticed that whatever I read tends to influence the tone of my writing (have not find ‘my own’ voice yet), my descriptions are also influenced (or inspired) by Ray Bradbury, who is a genius and his freedom and brilliance in description give me more confidence and freedom in mine