They say, that when it rains, it pours. That the rain will wash everything clean. But the city is melting. The artifacts and towers crafted so carefully from the sand during the bright lights of summer are being swept away, clotting the streets. The beautiful spires designed by the well-known architect have vanished, and are replaced with mud that streaks down the walls and when a child traces a stick along the wall the impenetrable prison is demolished, and the inmates run free.
Prompt was, I think, "When it rains, it pours." I also like this piece a lot. Odds I was fucked while writing this? Very high. (Pun intended.)