Part 1

The Father of Caves and Clear Water
by Chris Fillebrown

A raindrop fell through the cold wind of early spring. Rain came first from early evening into night, from light rain to storms filled with thunder and lightning. The sky sounded white noise. The time was very early Saturday morning, on the far northern edge of Dallas, Texas. Beneath the surface slept Philip Young, his dream, the flame of a single candle.

From the window, water played with light, projecting rivulets and streams onto the wall behind the bed. The raindrop struck his bedroom window.

Beyond the window, moonlight speckled raindrops stirred up leaves, dirt, dead grass.

Darkness swallowed candle light.

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