I’m often asked (not really, but let’s pretend), “Doesn’t it rain in Heliopoli? What’s with all the sun stuff?”
Of course it rains in Heliopoli. Buckets of the stuff. Loads of it. Sheets, even.
OK, so you haven’t been there, but look. You can imagine you’re standing in the Central Plaza, which is as flat as can be and goes almost to the horizon. The Sun Disk Monolith looms over your shoulder. Let’s say it’s late afternoon, but it feels like early evening, the sky is so dark — dark from all the big thunderer clouds, clouds like kettle bottoms, clouds like fists. It rains. And the rain is drenching … and loud. It’s all you can hear. It’s hammering the plaza. You see the ground dancing from it. The air turns cold, and so do you. You’re in the middle of it, you crazy! And the rain smells like metal, like iron. And thunder sweeps across the sky making the city seem bigger than it is — emptier, lonelier.
The rain doesn’t stop suddenly. It goes away gradually. It just showers, eventually, like it didn’t mean to be so harsh before. It eases away. The plaza shines gray and a tiny bit green.
OK, so it’s a little different in Heliopoli, because if it’s raining in the afternoon — well, it stops just before sundown, always. Now, did you expect anything different? You can imagine the colors of the plaza then. And the feeling that you get when you see it — do I have to say more? You’ve seen the sun come out after a torrential rain.
Yeah, it’s like that there. You betcha.