short fiction · 2026-10-19

Drumming on the Roof

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

Rain begins as a whisper, a single drop testing the tin roof's patience. Then another, and another, until the surface becomes a drumhead for the sky's fingers. Each strike sends a vibration through the metal, a cool resonance that hums in the rafters. Inside, I press my ear to the wall and feel the storm's pulse - not loud, but insistent, like a heartbeat learned from weather. The rhythm shifts: a gust sends a staccato burst, then it settles into a steady roll, as if the clouds are rolling out dough across the heavens. I think of all the conversations this roof has heard - laughter muffled by downpours, arguments drowned in thunder, silence soaking in during light showers. Now it's my turn to listen, to let the weather's percussion wash over me, clean and simple. When the rain finally eases, the tin continues to sing for a few moments more, each lingering drop a final note in an impromptu concerto.