She remembers the rain. It seemed to pour forever. There had been no snow that Christmas. Only rain. The streets outside were flooding by the minute, and each time she sat at the window in her bedroom watching the world go by, the water crept so high that in her tiny mind, the threat of it creeping up to their apartment on the third floor seemed like a real one indeed. The day she remembers so vividly begun in the early hours of the morning. Far too early for her to be awake having already slept, but she was, and still is, a light sleeper. She can’t remember what had stirred her on this occasion, but she was certain that a sound had licked her ear causing her to rise. Sitting up in bed, everything was still. Everything save for the falling rain. It was hitting her window like the tiny paws of many mice; begging to be saved from the clutches of carnivorous cats. Her mother was still asleep, for she could hear her lightly snoring through the paper-thin walls. There were no sounds emanating from her father though, which was strange because her father snored loudest of all. She wasn’t supposed to leave her room before her parents were up but tiptoeing outside, she pressed her ear against their door and listened intently for a clue as to his whereabouts. There were no clues though, only her mother’s snores and the persistent sound of rain coming through the open window. Her mother always insisted on sleeping with an open window, mainly on account of Gretchen’s father, and the horrid smell of his farts. Gretchen found her father’s farts highly amusing, but her mother was decidedly against them. Kneeling quietly making sure not to make a sound, she looked through the keyhole of the door. She could see her mother’s bed and a shape beneath the duvet. Looking across to the other side of the room, she saw her father’s bed. It was perfectly made. There was no sign of him whatsoever. She couldn’t even sniff out a trace of his signature farts.