The shadow in the rain
Dark heavy clouds gather ominously in the sky and soon tears from the heavens start to fall. People struggle with their umbrellas, a blaze of exotic colour. Pink with polka dots, lime green and rainbow coloured umbrellas bob along as the owners hurry through the streets. The rain is heavier now caught between the cracked slabs of pavement, filling up to create ripples in the gathering puddles. Splash, splash; a small girl in wellies hops through them, laughing happily much to the annoyance of her mother.
Amidst the sheets of rain sits a solemn figure, on the museum steps. The grand cream stone and ornate pillars surround him; a protector from the elements. A shaggy coated black dog sits obediently at his side. His head is resting upon the man's leg. The dog looks well cared for. It shuffles slightly to the left and starts to nuzzle the man's hand.
The old man stretches his legs revealing scruffy black leather boots, weather worn and aged. Their long black laces trail forgotten on the floor. His jeans are ripped and faded although they seem to have once been quite dark in colour. The pockets are broken, the black stitching having come undone. A faded black jumper hangs loosely off his frame, its sleeves too long and frayed at the edges. He pats his coat pockets suddenly, before pulling out a small dog treat from within its depths. Holding it carefully between two fingers he offers it to the rain soaked dog at his side. It is only when the dog has finished eating that the man shifts his gaze to the statues in the grassy park. The only comfort from the stone steps is his black trench coat which creates a blanket on which they could both sit. The high collar is drawn over his face, casting it into strangely shaped shadows. The dog nips at his fingers before taking the dog treat gratefully from his hands which are clad in black fingerless gloves, edged with small threads having unravelled themselves over time.
Callused fingertips run through the dog's long haired coat as he strokes him affectionately on the head. His fingernails are cracked and years of dirt lay thick underneath them. His fingers are the same. He watches passer-by, vacantly staring with his haunted obsidian eyes. A long strand of dark hair streaked with grey falls over his brow and he wipes it away swiftly, before pulling his coat collar up, masking even more of his face. He winces slightly. His mouth then returns to the same unfathomable expression. The coat collar slips down his face revealing a ragged fresh cut, seemingly carved into his cheek. Blood drips slowly down his pale skin. He tentatively wipes the blood away.
A small girl with bright pink wellies and an even brighter pink raincoat runs quickly up the wide stone steps, nearly tripping at the top. Her brown hair is frizzy from the pouring rain and small droplets of water slide off the tip of her nose. She skips up to the dog, patting it enthusiastically on its back.
"His name's Sirius," the man mutters in a deep silken voice. The corners of his lips twitch into a faint hint of a smile, before a worried looking mother drags the little girl away by the hand. Her agitated voice could be heard as she and the girl enter the museum.
The man sighs and turns his attention back to his dog, the only sound now is the gentle dripping of the rain.