Diary Drabble: Rain

Every step produced a thick, wet, sucking sound for trying to pull his boot from the mud. The rain crept down the back of his neck beneath his not-waterproof jacket, and every item of clothing, every inch of skin was cold, clammy, and wet.

He’d done this to prove a point to those people, those who put foreigners above their own home. He though of dryer times, wished for crowds to amass on London, bemoaning what his beautiful country had become.

He’d lost friends, family, saw prices increase,...