An exercise in dialogue that I did for my Intro to Fiction Writing class. Enjoy.

Soul Dirt

Wren stared up at the dark sky that was swallowing the world whole. Tinged lightly with phosphorus orange from the distant city, few stars pierced the grainy blue-orange canopy. He exhaled a puff of smoke; half moisture from his lungs, condensing in the cool air, and half cigarette smoke.

"I like it when it rains."

Rick didn't even look up from where he sat in the dust next to the front tire. "Why's that?"

"It washes everything away."

"Like dirt and stuff?"

"Yeah. Dirt. All the dirt on the world. All the dirt in the world."

"You're repeating yourself." Rick's eyes flickered upwards for a moment, and then returned to the can he was slowly and methodically crushing between his fingers.

"No. There's a difference."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Dirt on the world. Like dirt on my car. Dirt on the road. Dirt on my shoes."

"I follow."

Wren inhaled again, this time a lungful of pure night. He exhaled in a shuddering breath as if the cleanliness was painful. "Dirt in the world…. That's different. Soul dirt, ya know?"

"Soul dirt?"

"Yeah. Hate. Worry. Mistakes. Fear. Lies. There're all kinds of dirt in the world."

The cicadas shrieked for a few moments. Rick dropped the can with a muffled clank and leaned back against the car. "You're right. All those seem kinda small when it rains."

Wren nodded slowly, never removing his eyes from a single, distantly glaring star. "All the sudden, you're surrounded by, covered with, all of this, and you think about it. How far it came, how old it is."

"Makes all your problems seem pretty weak, eh?" Rick smirked halfheartedly.

"Weak?" Wren flicked his ash into the darkness. "No, more like…. Soluble."

"Soluble?"

"Yeah. Dissolving. Softening. How many people's problems did that rain fall on before? How much does it matter now?"

"So the rain washes away all the bad things in people?" Rick was dubious.

"No. It just makes them clean for a little while. Dirt always comes back."

"Well, dirt's as old as rain, I guess."

Wren hunched in on himself, seeming to notice the chill breeze for the first time. "I wish it would rain all the time."

"That would be depressing."

"We'd always be clean. The rain would always wash us."

"No way. Then we'd have mud all over."

"Mud… it's just clean dirt."

Rick shook his head emphatically. "Nope. It's dirty water."

"Dirty water?" Wren gazed down at his friend. "No such thing. Water only makes things cleaner."

"The purest thing can always be tainted." Rick met his gaze. "Besides, if it was always raining, you'd sit here and say, 'I wish the sun would shine.'"

Wren dropped his eyes. The cicadas were lonely again. When he spoke again, it was in the same soft tone as when he began. "I wonder why people always complain about the rain. They say, 'Oh no. It's raining. I'll get wet.'"

Rick snorted in laughter at the high pitched, whiny voice Wren used for the last. "I think it's because being wet is uncomfortable."

"But you'll dry out eventually. And we need the rain."

"Yeah, people complain when it doesn't rain too. Being really dry is uncomfortable as well."

"Why can't they just accept it?"

Rick shrugged. "It's not in our nature. We like to complain about everything."

Wren leaned back. "I wonder if it'll rain soon."

Rick peered at the can by his feet as if he could divine the future through the wrinkles in its creased surface. "I doubt it."

"I just want to be clean. For a little while."

"Everyone does."

"But…" Wren closed his eyes. "What if it did rain? Just poured. Washed everything away."

"How would you enjoy it? You'd get swept away too."

"Maybe that would be better." Wren stood up, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, face upturned. "I wish I could make it rain."

"Why? To wash away everyone's soul dirt?"

"Yeah." He paused for a moment before continuing quietly, almost to himself. "But mostly my own."