I can remember as clearly as my own name, the sound of the rain pounding mercilessly away at the roof of my grandfather’s house and the howl of the wind outside the raindrop-painted windowpane. I slouched in the rocking chair in the living room, watching the rain hammer away at the wood boards on the back porch and rocking absentmindedly. The droning hum of the heater vent vibrated through the musty air of the house. It was all white noise, buzzing away at the back of my head. In truth, my mind was not in that gloomy old house. I was off in my own world, racing through the imprints of time.
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