Matthew_Douglas518

HERE’S TO SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL

The rain hasn’t fallen on Mercer Street in over forty years. Water is rationed, the market thrives, and the people live hidden from time itself—until she appears.

Margo arrives at the doorstep of an old apartment house, soaked from head to toe in something impossible. Rain. She doesn’t know where she came from. She doesn’t remember how she got there. But she smells like a storm from another time, and that scent is about to change everything.

Park and Key, longtime friends and misfits of Mercer, take her in—one fascinated, the other suspicious. As they uncover the mysteries of her past, they find themselves tangled in a web of forgotten histories, secret societies, and a reality they were never meant to question.

Time folds. The past whispers. And in a world where water is worth more than gold, the girl with the rain might just be the key to everything.

A mind-bending dystopian fantasy soaked in jazz, opium smoke, and the scent of lost memories.

 Mystery, time distortion, and a city lost in its own legend
 A girl who shouldn’t exist—and the men drawn into her storm
 Secrets buried beneath the market and the gatekeepers who guard them
 A journey through a world where the past is a whisper and the future is unwritten

Here’s to something beautiful. Here’s to what comes next.

Here's To Something Beautiful

GAYANDI CAZ ADAMI

I never stopped. I heard her speak, "My name is Margo." But I never stopped. I ran right into my room and slammed the door behind me. "Holy fuck". I let out as I fell into the armchair next to my bed.

I love this armchair. I got it from a friend that had passed on recently. His name was Gayandi Lovette. He was a jazz musician. And, he was a pretty fucking good jazz musician at that. Gayandi had a way about him. He could take the things that most people feel, but cannot ever put into words. And he translated that into the most beautiful guitar music you could ever witness on this sphere or any other. I can remember nights of him playing jazz guitar in the warm summer air while my wife and i danced around the living room into the parlor and back into the living room. We danced for hours and hours some nights.

I missed the days when my wife was still here. They were the greatest days of my life. Perhaps the greatest days I will ever know. I can still smell her perfume from time to time. Sometimes it's on her pillow that still lies in its spot on the bed. Other times it's on my collar where she used to lay her head when we sat in the swing on the porch, rocking our nights away. It keeps my mind at peace in a way that nothing else can. And for that I will forever be grateful.

I drifted back from thinking about my friend gayandi's jazz guitar music into the current situation. Which was: Me locked in my bedroom safely with the gun in my hand. And Key, my roommate, outside with that maniac named Margo. She's probably ripped him to shreds and devoured his testicles by now. I couldn't help but wonder though. What was going on outside my door?

I pressed my ear up to the door. I couldnt hear anything. No sounds of people talking or walking. Nothing. I am becoming more and more curious as to who this Margo is, the girl with the rain. I couldn't help myself any longer. I tucked the gun into the back of my pants the way I used to see the gangsters do it in the movies back in the old days when I was a child, and I opened the door.

Chapter Two