He hated it when it rained. Not only was it cold but the water would invariably leak through the old window seals and drip into his cell. It meant moving everything to one side of the room.
Once the downpour had been so heavy as to leave him barely an inch to sit in.
He had raised the issue with his guards who laughed and reminded him a prison cell wasn’t a room at the Hilton and he had to accept whatever came his way.
After years of this, he fashioned his own means of survival. He could ascertain from the rate of rainfall and the wind direction if his person was in danger of suffering another soaking. That’s was the trouble he reasoned, the soaking wasn’t swift it was slow as the water inexorably made its way across the floor towards him. It was feet up and shut his mind away from the cold, the wet, the discomfort, telling himself tomorrow it would stop, the floor would dry out and his world would be back to normal.
He liked normal. Normal was a dry day, sunshine and warmth.
Above he could see the monsters spouting water in an increasing volume. He huddled into his bed, eyes on the window as the first drops appeared.