The rain fell in great drops, shattering on the tin roof of the house. I was an abandoned farmhouse; the red paint of the porch peeled off in strips resembling the bark of the tree that stood in the yard. It was on this day that she set out with only the light of a lantern, to seek the city, to seek her fate, her destiny, the future of improbable events: events that she could only observe in retrospect.
The city she sought lay beside the sea, connecting its inhabitants with the Earth and its cyclical continuity. Her family had all been lost in the fire that ravaged their cabin, which stood just miles from the white farmhouse, with it red trim. Why she sought that city, that dismal, gray city, filled with the never-ending rain, I cannot tell you, for I am no judge of another human’s emotions.
