Short story.

Two rocking chairs sat on the front porch of a tiny house. Every time the wind blew they creaked against the old floorboards. Most of their worn out existence was spent holding a relatively old couple who liked to watch the rain.  

Their front porch faced grassy knoll upon grassy knoll. They rolled over each other like soft ripples of a disturbed pond. A little town lay to the back porch. They couldn’t tell you what was down there. They never quite liked looking back. But, they could tell you exactly how many hills would lie before you if you were to sit in their rocking chairs.  

They liked to watch the rain. It drizzled, and little droplets fell from their porch roof. One by one they hit the ground.    

The man took a drag of his cigarette.  

The dry spaces of the concrete steps leading to their porch lessened.  

“I love you.”  

“You say it so often.”  

“Because that’s how I feel.”  

The man flicked cigarette ashes into a small puddle. It created wrinkles in the water, just as if another drop of rain had fallen. The ripples never subsided.  

They sat. Soft winds blew the green grass of the hills back and forth. It captivated them. The floorboards of the porch creaked.    

“All it ever seems to do is rain.”  

“Not as much as over there.”  

The man lit another cigarette and took a long drag from it. The rain specked the ground until there were no longer any places left dry.  

“What if you never came back?”  

“Hm?”  

“If you never came back, what would I have done?”  

The glowering end of the man’s cigarette lingered dangerously close to his fingertips. He flicked it off the porch, into the rain.  

“Well, you’d have to watch the rain by yourself.”  

From the town below and behind, they heard the church bell ring. Everyone but them came flooded from the lone church, into the bare streets. The drops of rain spotted their Sunday’s best as they struggled to remember what had been preached to them. The couple on the hill could never place names to the countless faces. Yet, they could tell you exactly how many hills would lie before you if you were to sit in their rocking chairs.  

0
Liked it
Leave a Comment
comments powered by Disqus

Hi there!

Hello! Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!

Find the Spot

Loading