Wasn’t it Supposed to Rain?

Writing Prompt: You wake up one morning to find everything in your room normal. only you step out side, and somethings not right; you’ve gone back in time.

“Another day, another dirty dollar.” Volan Wax, a semi-professional beekeeper who manufactured kettles in his spare time, woke up proclaiming this same phrase religiously each and every morning.

“A little late today, aren’t we?” he grumbled at his alarm, giving it a swift slapping.

It was four forty four, and the alarm had yet to go off.

Volan Wax, you see, was the sort of man who didn’t appreciate when an alarm clock failed to do its job. 

Well if I can wake my damned self up on time, then what’s the point? 

This was perhaps one of the reasons that kettles fascinated him so much. They always did their job, perfectly, to the letter. They’d boil the water until it was piping hot and ready for a fresh cup of tea. Any failure that proceeded the kettle was user error, fault of the twollock making the beverage!

Volan Wax didn’t like people much, either.

“Why don’t we see what hellish sort of weather the almighty has bestowed upon us today?” Volan smiled a smug sort of smile, he had already checked that days forecast the evening before. Rain. It had said. And Volan was delighted. “Sounds like a wet one to me.”

Slipping on his rabbit headed slippers, the ears cut off to avoid the inconvenience of tripping over them, Volan crept across to his bedroom window where the lime coloured curtains were lying heavy in wait.

“Good morning, monotony.” he sang the words as he threw aside the lime coloured sheets of pristine cloth. But, much to Volan’s surprise, a brilliant beam of bright yellow light came flooding into the room, greeting him with a most wonderful warmth that bathed his entire body, and made him feel sick to the stomach. “What the devil is this?”

Ignore for a moment the Stegasaurus grazing idly upon Volan’s primrose bushes, and please too ignore the flocking Pterodactyls that swarmed the blood-lit orange skies. Oh, and never mind the prehistoric swamp that had suddenly sprouted around Volan’ s quaint little home. None of this had any impact at all upon Volan Wax, at least not immediately…

“I can’t believe it! This is madness! Where in hell is all the rain?” Volan tossed open the window, casting his gaze over the marshlands surrounding his home. A lovely little butterfly came to perch upon the windowsill. Volan flattened it with his palm, wiping the residue down his night shirt. “I have to say, this really has upset me.”

From somewhere under Volan’s bed there came a scuttling sound. He turned round, somewhat slowly and with barely any interest in the noise, to see his pet iguana purring softly at a half eaten cheese roll.

“Oh, if you must.” Volan sighed, “Have at it Jessie. It’s not as if my day could get much worse.”

Volan decided that the only sensible thing to do was go back to sleep and hope that he might wake up from this terribly inconvenient nightmare. So he tried exactly this. He slept for a full day, and most of the following night, only to awake with a strange looking bird perched over his face and a pack of wild Raptors ravaging his kitchen. He knew about the Raptors simply because Jessie had been good enough to tell him they were there.

“Well, I guess it’s out the window then.” Volan stared for a moment at the bird. It was a dull purple colour with tiny wings and a blue coloured beak. Its eyes were an unblinking shade of maroon grey, Volan’s favourite colour. Most of the kettles he manufactured were maroon grey. It was because of this that he decided to befriend the bird, and so allowed it to help him down from his third floor bedroom.

“I don’t see what all the fuss it about?” Volan swatted at the bird as it flustered its way down from the window, carrying an iguana in one foot and a kettle in the other. Volan had thrown himself onto the bird’s back and decided to use its eyes as his handle bars.

It suffices to say the bird wasn’t pleased.

“Christ, how do you land this thing?” Volan tugged at the bird’s ears, and they dropped.

The bird let out a pained sqwauk as it crash landed, the kettle slipped from its foot and cracked upon the hard ground, Volan cursed, and Jessie scampered off through the swamps.

“Wait, come back!” Volan shouted after Jessie, looking disgustedly at his now useless kettle.

Disgusted, it should be noted, with the bird that had landed so damn unprofessionally, and not with the kettle itself. Volan was heart broken to see such a beautiful thing as one of his kettles reduced to so terrible a fate. He’d spent the next forty three and a half minutes digging a grave, burying the kettle and saying a few polite words, before finally chasing after his estranged iguana.

“Thanks for absolutely nothing.” he snapped at the bird who promptly flew away.

The bird would soon be home in its nice warm nest telling its wife all about the wretched man who had harassed it earlier that day. And all it had wanted was a bite of the man’s cheese roll. It had never had a cheese roll before and the iguana claimed these were the tastiest rolls you could ever hope to eat. That damn iguana.

“Where is my damn iguana?” Volan muttered, and with that disappeared into the dense swampland jungle wearing only his night shirt and slippers, carrying in his pockets but a wheel of cheese, four paperclips, the television remote and a ladle.

What a bothersome turn of events indeed.

Copyright © K R Perry 2019

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