It's Raining, It's Pouring [[ic Drabble]]
It starts partway through his shift, 4 hours left, and he's alone in the break room when the thunder sounds and the water starts.
"...damnit. They weren't forecasting rain for today..." he mutters, glaring at his food. The thunder sounds again, louder and closer, and he stands and tosses it out.
He can feel the water working it's way into his stomach, bloating him full, so he gets back to work. The look on his face deters his coworkers, and the inmates start whispering as he walks past. They can hear the water in his shoes, he's sure.
The water is pounding on the building, he can HEAR it hitting the roof, driving like a nail gun, hear the gurgle as the water rushes through the intake pipes. The building is drowning, and him in it.
The water is in his eye, his nose. His heart pumps rainwater.
He snarls his way through the last 3 hours, and when shift change occurs, no one talks to him. They can tell.
He's dangerous tonight.
Glaring out the window into the downpour, he gets set to find his poor, waterlogged car, rusting beneath the waves that consume the building, when someone grabs his shoulder.
"Easy Pendleton. The missus is downstairs, waiting for you. She came by to make sure you got home okay." It's one of his coworkers, but he's so out of it, so sure he's been drowning all this time, that he can't tell who it is. The water in his eyes obscures all.
"...yeah...yeah, Carol, right...She's here? Right, downstairs..." he mutters, gurgles, half-heatedly waving the coworker off as he turns from parking, and heads to the front.
The walk down the stairs seems to take forever, he swears he can hear the sloshing of water around his feet as he descends deeper, the depths of the prison flooding around him.
"...Murphy? Hey, come on, lets get you home, yeah?" There. A buoy. A light at the surface, dragging him up, out of the water, out to the car.Â
He closes his eyes as she drives, and slowly the water drains. It spills from his ears, and she's telling him about her day, picking Charlie up early from school, umbrella mishaps. From his nose, and he can smell perfume. His eyes, and he can see the sky again.
His heart, and the fear recedes.
"Are you good?" she asks, and he breaths, the water in his lungs gone with the clouds. The garage is dry, the house is warm. Charlie is at the door, watching.
He waves. Charlie waves back.
Carol squeezes his hand. He squeezes hers.
"...yeah. I'm good."
