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Short Story The rain was teeming down from the overflowing gutters outside. A flash of lightening illuminated the dark, dank room, which I had been forced to call home. Bare, apart from a decrepit mattress in one corner and an ancient chair, ridden with woodworm in the other. The electricity had long since been cut off and the rotting windows kept out little wind or rain. I used to love the rain. We'd go out for a walk in the park and splash in all of the puddles. When we got home we would be drenched from head to toe, but mum would just roll her eyes, find out some warm, clean, dry clothes and make us a steaming mug of hot chocolate. We'd sit in front of the roaring fire and watch the rain continue to pour outside. Warm, safe and loved. I awoke to the heavy footsteps on the stairs. I...

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