It’s time for this week’s Song Title Challenge.
Write a short piece of fiction, around 300 words, using the song title as your story title but don’t listen to the song. You can pick your own genre or use the one suggested to me. Remember to link back to this post so I can find yours.
If you would like to suggest a song title for a future post, you can do so from the challenge page. You can also leave a suggestion on the Facebook page.
I got several suggestions this week and it was quite hard to pick one. At least I can assure you there are some interesting titles coming up.
This week’s song is Purple Rain by Prince (at least, I think his name was Prince at the time the song came out). It was suggested by one of my Facebook friends.
I cheated a bit with this one. Let’s see if you can figure out what I did 😉 (Hint: it has something to do with style)
The night is black as pitch. Gusts of wind rattle the shutters of the dilapidated manor house standing abandoned on the desolate moors.
A bolt of lightning rends the air in two, illuminating for a second a lonely figure hurrying towards the house, huddled against the approaching tempest. A second flash. He glances behind him as he starts counting under his breath: “One…two…three.” He has barely finished mumbling the last number when he hears the thunder, starting as a dull rumble but quickly building to an overwhelming crescendo, drowning out even the howling wind.
He starts as a drop hits his face. Miles above the moors the towering cumulonimbus clouds release their load. He pulls his oilskin coat tighter around him and redoubles his speed as the storm breaks over him.
Lightning now fills the sky and the thunder has become an unbroken throbbing in the air. Even while he runs toward the house rivulets form at his feet as water falls faster than the saturated earth can absorb it. The rivulets quickly merge to form streams, flowing turgid and fast.
I’m not going to make it, he thinks. There’s just too much water. The wind pulls violently at his coat. He slips and sprawls on the muddy ground. He looks up toward the house. It seems so far away.
With immense willpower he pulls himself to his feet. He lurches on through the deluge and finally reaches the house. He pauses on the porch to catch his breath before he forces open the front door and stumbles into the foyer.
He starts unbuttoning his coat as he calls out, “I’m home.”
A voice answers, “Did you remember to get milk?”
He sighs as he does up the buttons of his coat and wrenches the door from its frame once more.
Copyright © 2013 Herman Kok