Water Falling

Fiction

A new story by Carl Oprey: The first year their summerhouse was built they counted a total of seventeen drips. Seventeen buckets and bowls filled slowly with forest rain tainted grey with new mortar. Water drops in the living room seeped through the patio above. Water drops in the kitchen next to the stove pooled across the slate floor. The summerhouse, called so because that would be the only time it would be used, was built as a favor to the architect whose business had been all but wiped out by the after-war recession. The man liked this architect’s work; factories and offices. His wife needed convincing.