It was the sort of dreary day that makes even the most optimistic observer cry a few tears in the secret depths of his soul. Rain drizzled and dripped all morning, followed by more clouds and wind and rain yet again as evening approached. The sun set without even making a single appearance. If it had only been one day, the weather would have been tedious, but manageable. Unfortunately, the dullness dragged his lazy feet all across the February calendar. Twenty-eight unendurable days, one full winter month, without a solitary glimpse of the sun. The despair was reaching unbearable levels. The gloom was almost palpable. Tempers were on edge.
Samuel sniffed softly at his drippy nose. When the sniffling began to drive him mad, he retrieved a tissue from the pocket of his jeans and blew a little louder than intended. He was met, at that point, with such hideous glares that he felt compelled to apologize profusely and crawl deep into a shell of solitude for the entire evening. He retired at the end of the night, still ashamed and quite certain that the small sin had effectively ended his social chances forever. (11/6/2013)
(Originally posted on my old blog, Interim Arts, on June 24, 2014.)