"Stand in there you'll be drownded" the claw like hand pulls me in tight to the raincoat, in a panic a car lashes past, the puddle - as predicted - splashes maniacally. I think for a second she only pulled me to her to protect herself. I'm soaked anyway, socks so wet they'll never be dry again.
I want to jump into the puddle, want it to turn out to be a manhole, a wormhole carrying me to a parallel universe. I'm bored standing under the shop cover, sick of the shower, watching the drips.
Water has been around forever, it must be bored too - fall on the street - run into gutter - into the sea and up again, or fall into river, into a tap, loada crap BORING. I spell it out in my head B-O-R-I-N-G. A lady passes with a brolly - with one spoke all bent, a broken spiders leg, like a spoke's gone out of the bike, she's gone in a second.
I want to do singing in the rain, but Granny's Claw is unrelenting, holds on tight, keeping me close to turnipy smells and thinking she's keeping me dry.
Disclaimer: This is a fictional piece inspired by an umbrella at "group" today, my real granny is lovely and doesn't have claw hands, nor does she smell of turnips.
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