The Venusian Storm

On Venus the rain never stops.

It only rains.

The water falls down out of the sky, the ground soaks it up. It's insatiable thirst drinks more, more, more of the unending storm.

For years, centuries, millennia it rains. Then after that, with no sign of stopping, it rains more. The strange rubbery plants are bleached white with the downpour, weird and sticky, seemingly without life, but that they grow ever taller, the rain falling through the twisting white canopy of the forest in a drowning torrent.

On and on and on it rains. The milky clouded sky splits with blue lightening, then the thunder follows after with a crash of angry elements. Day comes in whitened bitterness, night comes in sad remorseless grey. The sun is unseen, only a brightening in the uniform sky marks the passage of time.

But regardless of the time of day, or the month of the Venusian year, or the amount of hope you have left.

It will rain.