Dreaming of Summer
"Good Morning folks, this is Fisher in the Morning on KIST Radio and it looks like we are in for another good soaking today. For all you people who love the rain I have good news, there is no end in sight. The forecast for the next week is rain, rain, rain and rain. Twenty-eight days of straight rain so far. Looks like we stand a good chance at breaking the record for the most days without seeing the sun..."
Blair Sandburg pounded the off button on the radio with a great deal more force then was necessary, but he consoled himself that at least he hadn't thrown the cursed thing across the room. Secure under a nest of blankets, he seriously considered pretending he was still asleep. But even here he could hear it... pounding on the skylight above Jim's bed, beating on the roof, and windows... there was no escaping it, no shutting it out...constant...prevasive..and apparantly, never-ending. Rain.
Flinging off his covers, bare feet hit cold wooden floors. Cursing, Blair dove back under, looking for the pair of thick socks that had somehow come off during the night. Even with socks, when his feet hit floor the second time it wasn't much warmer. Wrapping his bedspread around him Blair shuffled off in the direction of the bathroom.
The shower was turned on first thing, in the hopes that with enough time there would be warmth somewhere in his world. The image in the mirror was something out of a B horror movie. The constant humiditiy had caused Blair's thick hair to frizz and the healthy glow of his summer tan was long gone, leaving his skin a pasty white. Stripping down Blair stepped into the still cold shower and leaned his head against the even colder tiles. Life sucked.
Twenty minutes later rebelious hair had been wrestled into something resembling submission and five layers of clothes had been struggled into in a vain attempt to keep out the cold. Blair sat at the kitchen table staring at the tea kettle hoping that the shear weight of his gaze would make it boil faster when his roommate staggered through the front door.
Jim Ellison looked like a drowned cat. Water poured off his hair, his clothes, and if the squishy sound was any indication, had filled his shoes. For a moment Blair stared in facination at the water dripping off the end of Jim's nose before meeting his eyes.
"Why couldn't you have been the Sentinel of Tahiti?"
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