Drip Drip Drip Story Novels & Stories

Drip, drip, drip I feel feather like droplets break its fall on my head. What started off as tiny drops, now begin to pour mercilessly down on us. I look to the heavens, and mouth a thank you to the Lord above. This heavenly shower tames the flaming beast, making it crouch down to its master and disappear – only leaving it destruction behind. How amazing would it be, if it took its dreadful acts with it – but that would not happen, for what’s done is done.

Suddenly, the weather changed dramatically and the droplet fell to the ground. The black clouds covered the whole region as the diluted purple-ish water fell to the ground. Sizzle~ Each time the droplet fell on something, it sizzled like boiling water with the stench of thick blood accompanying it. The Unknown… All of them were thinking the same thing.

Chapter 21: THE TRAITOR'S CAMP The cave behind the waterfall was cold. Not a clean cold of winter. This was damp cold, the kind that smelled like rot and rust and things dead. Water hit the stones in a constant deafening roar, as the silence in the room grew louder. Darian sat at the edge of a flat rock as he set his foot into the water, relaxing his impatient nerves. His fingers drummed a slow, patient rhythm on the wet rock. Tap.tap.tap. like a clock on a countdown.

I drifted into silence and unconsciousness, losing track of time entirely. I had blacked out for several moments before I felt a sudden coolness wash over my body. Droplets of water touched my lips. I lapped at them greedily, chasing the moisture until my body fully awakened to the rhythmic patter of a drizzle. In an instant, the rain intensified into a deluge, hammering into me with the same merciless abandon that the sun had used to drain my strength. I welcomed the assault, parting my lips to allow the heavenly liquid to fill my parched throat. I drank until the water surged into my nose, choking me.

It had a bulge where plaster met old copper, a belly where there shouldn’t be one. She couldn’t hear the drip over her own bubble-noise. But the drip started anyway. A bulge widened by a fraction. One bead of water formed and swelled and fell. It landed on a junction box bolted to a crossbeam—blue tape, electrician’s scrawl, dust. The drop slid into the seam. The box ticked. Jasmine didn’t see it. She switched to breaststroke, slicing through the flat turquoise like a knife through a hard jelly.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE: THE LEAKY FAUCET It was almost midnight when Lila heard the dripping. She had been lying in bed, still buzzing from the sounds she and Marcus made through the wall earlier. The slow drip sound from her kitchen sink grew louder. She groaned and got up, wearing only her thin tank top and panties. Water was leaking under the cabinet. A small puddle was already forming on the floor. “Shit,” she muttered. She tried to tighten the handle, but it just got worse. She thought about waiting until morning, but the water kept coming.

Morning light slipped through the kitchen blinds in thin, pale stripes—barely enough to see by, but enough to catch the steam still rising from the forgotten coffee pot on the counter. Two mugs sat untouched, dark liquid gone cold hours ago. The house was quiet except for the soft drip of the faucet and their breathing.

The realization made my chest tighten even more. He left the strawberries behind without a second thought and came to where I was sitting on the other side of the counter. He turned me gently on the stool to face him, but I couldn't hold his gaze. I dropped my gaze to my fingernails, finally finding them interesting. They looked terrible: chipped polish, uneven edges. I never really take care of them, but it is a ridiculous detail to focus on while everything inside me was collapsing. "Not again. You're leaving, aren't you? Because I have a child."

Drip. Drip. Drip. A slow but steady dripping echoed in the small room where I was held. It never stopped and made my head hurt. It helped me focus on one thing. It was the same length as one Mississippi, two Mississippi… so I counted time until I forgot where I was and had to start all over again.

Lyra’s POV The night pressed down heavily. My body throbbed, restless beneath my skin. Every sound carved too deep, every scent crowded too close. I whispered to myself, “Hold it. Choose one sound.” The drip from the roof. Steady, slow. I clung to it. But the moment I closed my eyes, the drip broke into a roar. My veins burned. My nails dug into my palms until they cut. Something inside me wanted out.