The rain has swelled the gutters, and makes it harder to lift the heavy metal grate. He has to wrap his fingers so far around the rough bars that they curl back in on themselves.1
He heaves it aside at last, and absently wipes rusty trails down his pants, gaze flicking over the constant trembles of water on the move. Last time it rained this hard, he earned himself a tennis ball; chewed and nearly hairless, but with bounce.2
Something stands out, and he leans forward eagerly, reaching out. He comes close, manages to brush against the thrashing sliver of death, but then the snake is gone.
Author notes
If I wanted to be deep and meaningful and authorly, I would claim (while puffing serenely on my pipe) that this microfiction is meant to capture the manner in which all that is natural, dangerous but beautiful, is slipping through humanity's fingers as we greedily grasp for whatever we can get our sweaty paws on.
...in actuality I had to write a short story between 90 and 110 words for uni featuring rain, and my brain went "rain = gutters = debris = lolsnake!"
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