short story
He sat in his room and the rain and the wind didn't stop. They didn't stop for his pain or his need for silence. He didn't know whether they should stop, either. I am just a boy, he thought. Why should they stop for me? I am just a boy in a world far beyond me. And this was when they did stop. Water ran off the roof and was not replaced. The trees swayed back upright but were not met with an opposing push to send them over again. The boy got up and went to the window and was met with nothing. Nothing but the ordinary landscape he saw every morning when he buttoned his blue school shirt and combed his thick, dark hair to the side. He sat down on the edge of his mattress and felt the springs compress beneath him and heard the muffled twang of their struggle. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered to himself, barely audible. The boy then slept and dreamt of nothing.
