Victor studied hard to get his rain dance right. When his feet could tap a rhythm and still keep him upright, he was ready.
At the park in dead heat midday, he got to putting on a show. Leaves cracked like rust shavings under him. When he couldn’t see straight for sweat, he stopped to catch his breath, looked up at the sky. No clouds.
Disappointed, he was about to go home when a drop hit him, then another, more.
He was happy until he saw their color: red.
His fault for not describing what he wanted to rain down.
Author’s Note: I like rain dances. They’re beautiful when done right, but I wondered what would happen if an amateur did one all wrong. What kind of treat (or trick) would the sky give him?