Lessons

The fountain made more noise than the rain. It was the rain he missed. He once thought that he wanted the beaches, and the sun. But he finds himself missing the misting rain of the Northwest the most. The soothing sounds of rain. The chill of fall turning the leaves color, the cold of winter bringing fresh air and snow.
Another life now it seemed. But, then,  maybe it really was. Sometimes, he felt as if his past lives were conflicting, bleeding over into his consciousness. It was so hard to determine reality anymore.
He blinked, how long had he been sitting here, he couldn't say. But it was long enough for the rain to stop. He should be leaving now. He sighed. Had it really come to this? Was this his only choice?
He looked around at this house, it wasn't much, practically falling down, but it held so much history. Could he really just walk away from it all? What did this mean? Did it have any effect on him?
So many questions. No answers. Some days he wondered if his life wasn't a tragedy, it definitely had all the earmarks.
If he left, where to go. He couldn't stay here, he had burned all his bridges long ago. No one cared anymore, live or die, it was just him now. A ghost. Easy to vanish this way. And boy did he just want to vanish right now.
If he went to the beach, the life of a beach bun awaited him. Living on a boat, drinking himself to death. Or he could go to the mountains. Find a cabin, get off the grid, become a farmer, subsidence living. Disappear entirely. If you're not on the internet, people nowadays would never be able to find him again.
The rain had stopped momentarily. It was his window, time to leave.

It was now or never.

Tremors

It was quiet in the still of the night. The moonlight filtered through the branches of the forest in soft patches. It was weird. You could see, but everything was shadowy, pale. Like a reflection of itself. Was anything real? This place, with its lack of sound, did it exist or was it another figment of his imagination?
The whiskers on his face were getting longer. He should probably consider cutting them or growing a beard. They needed trimming. He turned on the water in the sink. Clean shaven or bearded? He remembered hearing that the lumber Jack look was in. Women wanted a rugged man. The hot water steamed up the mirror. And wasn't it November anyway? Weren't you supposed to let it grow in November? What if you were a woman? He wondered if they could get away without shaving. Time to stop that line of thought, he was getting aroused.
He stared at the steering wheel. He was losing precious time sitting here. But he had to think for a minute. Was this what he really wanted to do? Once he pulled away, there was no turning back. Was it really that bad? She said she was sorry. But that wasn't something you did by accident. You have to plan that. It's not like you just slipped and boom. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He looked down at the seat. There was his pistol, the bag with the rags, rope, everything he needed. It was just a matter of will everyone listen to reason.