The Apartment
Oliver noticed it when he began to hate the sound of rain.
The things that they once shared and loved no longer brought him joy.
It’s been three years; three years of grieving, three years of rebuilding. Oliver stares out of his window, he’s six stories high looking out over a city that was once bustling and now sits eerily quiet. His eyes flit between apartment blocks outside, the rain begins to lash against his window and Oliver thinks just how frustrating it is that it constantly pitter patters against the glass.
He stands up and moves to the kitchen.
He fills the kettle with water, places it on the stove and lights the hob.
Anything to drown out the sound of the rain he thinks.
Oliver pours himself a tea and returns back to the sofa, one leg up clutched closely to him as he stares out at the city. He has done this every night since it happened. His numbness is ever-present; until tonight. Tonight he feels something else; a bitterness at the sound of the rain.
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