It stopped raining days ago, but I can still hear it. All day long it patters against the windows and the tin roof, but when I open the door and look outside, it’s nothing but blue sky.

It’s a strange thing, but I sometimes imagine that the house has swallowed the storm; that it’s somehow absorbed the sounds and the electric feel feel to the air. It’s colder in here, too, if you can believe that.

Like the house. Like it’s swallowed the storm and somehow it’s raining inside the walls and there’s thunder in my head and I can’t sleep because it’s so loud.

Ever since it stopped raining outside I’ve felt as though I’m losing my mind. But I swear to God, it’s raining inside the walls.

Sometimes I think maybe my mind’s absorbed the thunder the same way the house ate the storm. It’s so loud in there, inside my head, somewhere behind my eyes.

Echoing. Echoing. Echoing.

The hair on my arms stand out in the static charge of the air. And all day long, all day long, I can hear the rain in the walls.