Tangled together in his tiny apartment, the tap-tap-tapping of the rain against the roof had all the romance of candlelight and roses. Later, the two of us stood in sober silence on the chilly cement stoop outside, his arms encircling my waist as we waited for a pause in the precipitation. But the storm raged on—incessant, indifferent—leaving us no choice but to sprint across the slick, grassy field to the lot where I’d parked my car. When we’d reached our destination, clothes shellacked to our skin, he kissed me one last time before disappearing into the downpour.
LORI CRAMER writes stories of various lengths, but her favorite length is 100 words. Her short prose has appeared in Boston Literary Magazine, Fictive Dream, Riggwelter, Train, Unbroken Journal, and Whale Road Review, among others. Links to her work can be found at https://loricramerfiction.wordpress.com. Twitter: @LCramer29.