The story itself is completely unrelated to the prompt, but I figure that's O.K., because the whole point was to get me to write, and write anything! I look forward to writing again! And now, Dystopia.
Turning her drenched collar up against the downpour, Lilah pushed her way up the high-street, towards the small shop near the top of the hill. Water ran down the sidewalk in streams, breaking against the tips of her boots and pouring off the side. The gutters, unused to such volumes of water, had been overcome. The water, with no place else to go, simply fled lower and lower, finding a hollow, a rut, or a pool, filling it and then overflowing, running on to the next until everything was soaked, until everything was flooded. Miserably, Lilah plodded quickly onward, fighting the constant rain.
By the second day, the roof of her apartment building, unused to such conditions, had begun to leak. Now the rain had been steadily falling for four days and many roofs, hers included, had fallen in, driving people by the dozens onto the streets to look for shelter.
The doors to the other levels of the city had been closed down. Lilah thought of her cousins living in tier #1, somewhere below her. How she had looked down on them for being poor, for being stuck so near the mines and forges. Stuck listening to the infernal clanging and banging, the hissing steam, roaring drills and huge thudding hammers that made the ground shake. Stuck in the heat. Suddenly shivering violently, she cursed at the numbingly cold water and at herself. How many times she had declined their invitations to visit, coming up with wild excuses or ignoring them all together. What she would give to be with them right now, in the warm, dry, loud house she had grown up in and left as soon as she was able. It would be dry; the pumps were working on the lower levels, she could feel them constantly, a low throbbing.
As she walked she grew more frozen and soaked. The council had no right to do this to her or to the thousands of other everyday Second-level citizens being equally affected by the artificial rain. It had driven her out of her home, out of the relative comfort she had. She had watched the water build up against the mill where she worked until one wall buckled and gave in and it began to fill until, like a balloon, it burst, carrying bricks and machines, bundles of clothes and tools and everything else on a brown tide down the street. Now, her only possession the clothes on her back, she turned hopelessly to the only saving force she could think of, the resistance. It was only to suppress the resistance and punish its followers that the rain had been started, and now, because of its apocalyptic pouring, people were flocking to the one place they knew would not turn them away. In half a week, the rain had done more towards solidifying the people of T2 against the council than in twelve years of diligent resistance work.
Finally, Lilah reached the small shop. Yanking the door open, she stumbled inside and struggled to close it against the water now streaming inside and into a drain. A burly arm reached past her and pulled the door forcefully shut, and the roar of the rain and the gurgling of the water on the streets dissipated to a surprisingly low mumble. Turning, Lilah found herself face to face with Peter, the proprietor of the shop. “Lilah girl, quickly, come in! You look half dead!” he spoke concernedly, quickly taking her coat and handing it to his nephew, who hung it to dry. In one smooth motion, he spun a chair away from a table and into place next to the blazing radiator, then pushed the exhausted girl into the warm wood, sliding the chair to face the life-giving heat. A steaming mug was forced into her hands, and Lilah noticed, for the first time, the conglomeration of soaked and bedraggled friends, neighbors, and coworkers all gathered in the heat. “I guess it pays to invest in a strong roof, eh?” he said, awkwardly concealing his worry in joviality before retreating, shuffling into the back room.
For a few minutes, the room was silent as Lilah soaked in the warmth of the room. The mug brought life into her numbed hands and she took a drink, coughing at the harshness of the strong unsweetened tea, but still vaguely delighted at the heat now spreading through her from within. Within a few minutes, she was drifting off to sleep, finally warm, finally safe. She would have to venture out again to contact the resistance, but for now, thought Lilah, she was content to sleep.
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