He knew of rain gods- poor bastards who carried never-ending
precipitation wherever they went.
They didn’t know they were gods. They just thought
they had extraordinarily bad luck when it came to planning picnics, or
vacations, or when to mow the lawn.
So, naturally, he wondered if he were a sun god.
Because it never rained on him.
It could be black-sky-gale-force-winds-storming, but
the minute he poked his nose out the door, it would stop and not start again
until he was under cover.
Every time.
And even though it was mostly very convenient, he’d
love to feel a raindrop.
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