Umbrella – by Owen Niblock

It occurs to me, as I sit gazing out of my window, that when God decides to urinate furiously from atop his castle of clouds, there is always one sad, soggy, solitary guy. The guy without an umbrella. It also occurs to me, I’m afraid to say, that more often than not that it is I. That guy, the guy without the umbrella. But as if this were not enough to damp my mood it goes still deeper, deeper still. Not only am I the guy without an umbrella, I am also the guy who gets stuck behind the guy with an umbrella the size of the moon. The guy who walks so slow he may as well crawl. And when. And when I finally get fed up of it all and decide to make my move, the guy with the umbrella makes his counter-play. Oww! I say. As the moon pokes me in the eye. He turns, although, I was mistaken, the guy with the moon is not a guy at all but she’s a girl. She says she’s sorry. Dreadfully sorry, and takes me for a drink. We smile. We laugh. We drink some more, and eventually no longer am I the guy without the umbrella. I’m the guy with the girl with a moon on a stick.