“It’s miserable,” she mumbled as she peeked out of the shelter of her front door. It was pouring rain and the grey alleyway was even bleaker than usual.

“It is, isn’t it?” her neighbour responded, appearing at her side, carrying a brightly coloured umbrella. He usually showed up like that on rainy days, a smile lighting up his face and an umbrella in hand. But, for some reason, his smile this morning looked forced.  He looked tired. There were bags under his eyes that she never noticed before.

“I hate the rain,” she always said as they walked.

“The rain hates you too,” he always responded, albeit a little childishly.

When they reached the bus shelter, he bid her good-bye and turned to walk away, before she called out, “Thank you.” He gave another smile, turning back to her as she continued. “You always walk with me, and I’ve realized I’ve never properly thanked you. You always manage to brighten my day, even when it’s this dreary. So…thanks.” In one fluid motion, he dropped his umbrella and pulled her into a hug. When he pulled away after a couple of seconds, she mumbled, “So, I, uh, heard it’s going to rain again tomorrow. Wanna walk again?”

He hummed in response, nodding before picking up his umbrella and waving good-bye, mumbling a soft, “I’m sorry.” that was more to himself than to her; even though it was meant for her.

The next morning, after again poking her head out of her door, she was surprised to find the alleyway dry. She could hear the rain falling, yet not a drop touched her. She looked up to inspect the sky to ensure that her ears weren’t playing tricks on her, only to have her view of the sky blocked by a multi-coloured shield of umbrellas. Laughter bubbled up from as she examined the umbrellas closer. She knew exactly who did this. Smiling brightly, she walked across the alley to her neighbour’s door, hand raised in the air, poised to knock. But she paused, as if frozen in time. As she stood there, the umbrellas began to disintegrate around her, letting the rain hit the concrete. The door that was previously clear was now covered in police tape, blocking anyone from entering.

The memories rushed back to her like a flood, making her stumble back a few steps. That day. All that blood. His death. A murder? Suicide? It didn’t matter – he was still gone. When? When did he leave? How long has she been doing this? How long has she been coming to his front door when he was gone?

“How long?” she screamed in the empty alleyway. She was about to scream again when something caught her eye. A couple yards away from his door was a bright red umbrella, leaning against the wall. Falling to her knees in front of it, she picked it up, cradling it in her arms and cried.