The day it rained so hard my glasses were washed from my face and swept down the street like a paper boat lost on the seas

I was standing in a street that was infinite in every direction, even up, and quite possibly down. I hadn’t looked there because I was scared of heights, especially infinite ones. My mother had always said that I was being foolish, that you couldn’t die from an infinite fall, but she also once said that I shouldn’t be frightened of bees, and look how that turned out (I was once stung by a bee).

Anyway, as I stood there, under that thunderous sky, the road stretching up into it, somehow, and I swayed to a rhythm that seeped up through my shoes and into my knees, where my filters and springs dampened its spirits and it barely even reached my spine, as I stood there it began to rain with a fury I had long suspected of the sky.

The spots battered against my metal skull and my glasses were washed from my face and swept down the street like a paper boat lost on the seas. I watched them go, and let the rain weep down my cheeks and into the tray of my jaw, my tongue flooded into a silence I maintained for some time.