h2>Dating : Write Rain
microfiction
I can only write in rainy weather, Julie tells her newly acquired bedmate, Russel. Russel pulls the sheets over his face and turns his back towards Julie. Rusell wants to continue sleeping. It was a was a long, sex-filled night with the talkative stranger named Julie. He needs his rest in case he meets another Julie tonight at the club.
I guess, If I plan on being a successful writer I should leave Los Angeles. Maybe I should move to Seattle. Have you ever been to Seattle, Russel?
Russel tugs at the sheets once more and makes some sort of grunting sound. Julie is unfazed. She gets up and crosses to the window. It’s another beautiful, sunny L.A. Day.
I hate it here. There’s no mood. I need mood if I’m going to be a writer! She plops back down on the bed, jarring Russel who gets up and says, So, I, uh, guess I should get going. He hops out of bed to begin the search for his clothes.
Julie watches him thinking how his body seemed stronger last night, his face friendlier. She is sure that his voice had a more soothing quality to it before. Last night, Rusell sounded like smooth jazz and looked like Magic Mike. But of course, it was late and the bar was about to close and they were both so very, very drunk and so very, very in need of company.
Julie speaks to Rusell as if he were a boyfriend and not the one-nighter that he is.
Do you know what I mean about the rain, Russel? How it makes you feel? For me it’s like, on an early, overcast morning, the words just seem to come in with the fog. They’re delivered straight to my bed, then to my head, then to the pen, then to the paper, and all of it with so much purpose I could cry with joy. Does anything make you feel like that, Russel? Like something is guiding you with joyful purpose?
Have you seen my shoes? Russel asks.
Julie points in the general direction of where the shoes might be and then falls back onto her bed, closes her eyes and prays for rain.
