[ IP ] Rainy Night

# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) 
 
 Her life within the cabin was not without its pleasures. Primarily the rain. Sheets of water pouring down onto the glass, and low, loud rumblings of thunder. Perhaps it was worth the loneliness, she thought. To be safely tucked between the trees, and watch nature roam around her. 
 
 Cabin Fanaday was her home. It had been her home now for nearly two years. She was a scientist: at first a humble researcher born in Thailand, then a distinguished project lead employed by Pandora Research Incorporated. She led a new project now, a private and classified inquiry on which she alone was to work. 
 
 She reported to no one, and spoke with no one save for letters of correspondence she wrote to her parents and older sister. She was under strict order not to discuss the specifics of Project Fanaday with those whom she contacted. After some time, her letters became less frequent. There was nothing to say, after all. No amount of break time watching online videos or reading world news could be a substitute for human interaction. That was what she missed most of all. The endless bustle of Silicon Alley, the cool of early morning outside a Manhattan brownstone. The deli on 4th Street where she'd had her first date with Paul. 
 
 She missed Paul. 
 
 Absentmindedly, she twirled her finger in the air. Her reflection did the same. She wanted it to be enough. She, and her reflection, and the rain. It was meant to be the only comforts she needed. 
 
 But every night, at 9 PM, the simulation ceased. The very idea of windows to the outside world refused to be, each screen recessing slightly before being shuttered into their hiding places. The speaker system left its pre-programmed cycle of thunderous rain in favor of the nightly chant: 
 
 > Good evening, Chariya. It is time for you to begin sleeping. It is important for you to get eight hours of sleep each night. Doing so will help the body... 
 
 She shut her ears to the voice as best she could, making her way through the dimly lit hallway to her bedroom. The bed was unmade, as disheveled and unorganized as the library, the bathroom, and lately, her various workstations. 
 
 She felt the urge to rebel, to burn her entire laboratory to the ground, if only to gain one more precious second with Paul and her family. But she quelled it, dashing her emotions as violently as she flopped onto her mattress. It would not be good manners to destroy her important work. 
 
 *Perhaps tomorrow. I will lodge a request for vacation. Perhaps it will not be denied again. * 
 
 Her nightly mantra washed her to sleep as easily as the summer rain.
