Clotho dove under the awning, escaping the sheets of horizontal rain pelting the fairground. He panted and shook drops from his over-sized boat shoes. This was not a gentle, whispering rain. It thundered down so viciously that every raindrop shattered through the canvas into mist. Lightning slashed down against the coaster and an ear-splitting roar echoed through the darkness. This savage wasn’t taking prisoners.
Rubbing his hands against his sodden and drooping puffed sleeves, Clotho yearned only for warmth and comfort. That’s all he’d ever really wanted. The lost days wasted sleeping off hangovers, all of the boisterous, bright circus evenings and intoxicated, empty nights. He never sought fame or fortune, just a little simple kindness.
“Is that too much to ask, damn you?” Clotho the Clown shook his white-gloved fist at the uncaring clouds.
Wiping away his tears, he wobbled unsteadily through the rain toward his tent. The rapacious storm pounced eagerly with an actinic flash.
157 words. Inspired by this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt: