Down the Rabbit Hole

The Ongoing Pursuit of Madness

Rain clouds rolled across a sky that only moments before was a brilliant shade of blue. Rose listened, and thought she could hear the distant rumbles of thunder. A summer storm always stirred something inside her, a strange and restless ache that she usually managed to repress with seventy hour work weeks and boxes of cheap white wine. The rain had started by the time she was crossing the open lot toward her car, swollen droplets soaking through the collar of her suit jacket and running in icy rivulets down the back of her neck. Cursing, Rose dropped into the front seat and punched the key into the ignition. The old sedan coughed to life. Rose sank back into the driver's seat and waited for the car to warm up, the ache in her gut growing more insistent as the downpour raged. Suddenly, a frantic pounding startled and she sat up, peering through the curtain of water where a familiar face pressed against the driver's window.