A Thousand Days of Spring Rain
The Boy watched the men approach his city from the window. It had been less than seven days since they’d left, and now, no longer in their absence, the Boy pressed his hand to the glass, longing to be down there with them. His breath had fog the window.
The men, who seemed as if they had aged since their last departure, marched off their ship and onto the docks. It was raining, heavier than a thousand days of spring rain put together. However, the men didn’t seem to notice. No. The ship occupied their gazes, where by a large, wooden crate stood more of them. The Boy rubbed at his eyes weakly and blinked away his tiredness. And then, as he turned is head back towards the ship, the crate moved.
Noticing the sudden movement, the men who were still on-board the ship rushed over to the crate and pushed against it, slowly moving it across the deck and onto the docks. The Thing inside of the crate hit against the walls, and some of the men stumbled and struggled to regain their footing. The Boy counted in seconds, watching and waiting to see where they would stop. After three minutes of pushing and shoving at it, the crate was on the docks and away from the water’s edge.
That was when a man, clad from head to toe in clothes as grey as the sky, stepped out from the darkness. He moved slowly, like a predator stalking it’s prey, and as he did the men backed away from the crate. The Man stopped short of the crate, and it began to move again. A violent screech erupted through the silent night, and the Boy pressed his hands against his ears. As he did, The Man laid a hand upon the crate and the wood creaked, splintered and erupted underneath his hand.
The Boy looked at the Man, and then slowly turned his gaze towards the broken crate. The chains that bound his wrists suddenly felt tighter, and the tower that held him suddenly felt higher. The Boy screamed, but only a singular word escaped his mouth: