short fiction · 2026-10-26

The Lingering Echo of Rain and Metal

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The downpipe sings after the storm — each drop a delayed report, striking copper then zinc, the sound traveling upward through the building's ribs. Mrs. Chen on the third floor hears it in her teacup's steam; the night watchman counts the seconds between impacts like a rosary. The gutter holds its breath, then releases: a chord of tin and time. By morning the echo is rust, and the rain has forgotten it ever fell.