I think I've forgotten what the outside used to feel like before the sun malfunctioned and started trying to bake us into the oven of an early grave. As soon as I set foot out the door a wave of hot air rushes forward and squeezes all the life right out of me.
What was rain like? Do you remember how it smelled? Little droplets poured down from the sky once, or so I hear. I think I remember that from a story I read.
The ground is so dry it aches and screams to soak up any little hint of moisture, to draw it in and use it to create.
Each evening, at dusk, I stand out on the deck and use collected rainwater to tend my poor garden. I fill bucket after bucket and ration each plant just enough water to produce fruits (for Harlan to eat, ps I hate him). When I'm done I kick the barrel and gauge how many days of water I might have left. How many days until the reserves run out?
I need the rain to come and fill me up.