Even the cassava crop was dying. The colony couldn’t last much longer.
“No! She’s too capricious!”
“We’ve no choice! We must perform the ritual… Look… I’ll… get the umbrella.”
Jack sighed, removed his clothing, and followed Isaac, now also naked and holding the umbrella.
“Oh, Holy One,” they intoned, “Please grant your playthings rain…”
This piece of flash fiction was written in response to: