‘It’s raining again,’ said the voice, hushed and distant.
The recipient appeared not to hear.
But Thomas Humbolt had heard alright. He had simply chosen not to respond.
He knew it was raining. He had been sat in the battered chair before the shattered window watching the downpour for the past hour. Slouched deep into the faded patterned fabric and slightly pissy smell of the best chair in what was once a bustling Cornish hospital. Resignation drew deep lines into his face at the path life had dragged him down. Sat watching the rain pour from blackened clouds upon a broken earth.
On the anniversary, of all days.
Surely for a day such as this the sun might shine? the thought brought a weak smile to his lips.
Exactly one year ago to the very day that he had turned down the chance to save the world, and instead, eaten fish, chips and mushy peas in front of the TV as all hell broke loose around him.
It felt much longer in truth.
It was fair to say that in his twenty-one years on the planet, Thomas Humbolt had marked better occasions.
Gazing blankly into the rising storm he shivered and pulled the fluff of a jacket collar tight to his neck before sinking his head deeper still into the chair.
A single thought brought the tiniest sliver of light amid the gloom of the moment.
When you’ve watched the world crumble because it’s chippy tea night, the only possible way is up.
He just hoped the upward turn came soon because it had been a long twelve months.
Thomas closed his eyes and drifted, completely unaware of what fate had in store.