I love the rain. I love how it just seems to make everything better. Smoother, even. Most people just like the idea of rain. They like the sound it makes when heard from inside, or how it can be an outward expression of the sadness they feel within. They like to look gloomily out the window and dwell upon the sad and unfair things in life. But I'm different. I don't love it because I find it relaxing. I don't enjoy sitting in the window and absently daydreaming. No, I love to be in the rain. I love to be in the kind of rain that’s so heavy that it makes it hard to see or hear. You see, nobody notices the woman with the chloroform rag sneaking up behind them as they're foolishly rushing to shelter, nor is anybody as likely to see the woman dragging the limp body to the dark alleyway where her car is parked. And nobody sure as hell will hear the muffled screaming coming from the woods masked by the rain.
It hasn't rained in a while, but there's supposed to be one heck of a rainstorm tonight. And I can feel the first droplets already starting to fall.