The Day the Rain Never Stopped

About a true story with some edited details.

The rain hit my face and fell down my cheek in a soft caress from mother nature.  She was always so nice to me�"hiding my tears while I cried. The water from the sky mixed with the salty drops increasing their size. Not that I felt the two merge, but that’s how I pictured it. As if the rain came down just to taste my tears. 

It had been raining for awhile now, five hours three minutes and twenty-three seconds to be exact, and I knew if I stayed any longer catching a cold was inevitable. But there was something about the soggy, muddy grown that made me stay. The longer I laid there, the deeper I sank into mother’s warm embrace. 

If I’m warm that might mean I’m numb. The thought brought a giggle up my throat and made a smile curve my lips. If my body was numb then it wouldn’t be too long before my heart froze too. Then, in contrast, it would be warm. Right? A warm heart is a happy one, yea?

Maybe my logic wasn’t exactly perfect, but it made me feel better and nothing else matters. Metallica had it right.

My eyes were closed; making sure the only thing I could see were the lights that flashed behind my eyelids. Really, if I concentrated hard enough, I could form the streamers into shapes and make a picture. Kind of like sculpting, but I didn’t have to use my hands and nobody would ever see the masterpiece. Shame, really.

My body fell another inch into the ground as I continued to lie there. Maybe, if I wanted, to be honest with myself, I would say I wanted someone to bury me here. 

I lifted my arm, or tired to, the suction sound that came from the action was loud as it echoed in the emptiness. It made me feel loved like it didn’t want me to leave. No worries, I thought to the earth, I’m not leaving.

 I stretched my hand behind my head easily finding what I was looking for. Cold Marble. I did not have to twist my body around to have a clear visual of the stone-- not like I could if I needed to. I ingrained the image in my head seven hours ago during the gathering.  I began to paint the image on the back of my eyelids. 

The scene began with a black marble headstone customized for two separate people. The thing was about as wide as my body was tall�"five feet. Although the bottom of it was the one-whole piece, the stones were split into two separate squares with a vase in the middle. And on the vase was a picture of a tiger head surrounded by lighting bolts. Inside, the vase held a collage of orange tiger lilies and red roses. Effectively giving the impression of fire. 

I personally filled the vase and arranged the flowers. I’ve done a lot of things myself that no child should have to do at such a ripe age. Would you believe that’s quoted? Yes, I’ve had several people go on and on about my despair. They thought it might help me cope to know, that they know, my times are tough. 

The stone was cold, that’s my educated guess. Really, my hand was numb. The only reason I knew I was touching the stone was because my arm stopped stretching and if I continued to pushed there was resistance. For all, I knew someone was behind me and I had a hand in their leg. However, the surface was flat so common sense proved it was the stone. 

The rain was still a steady stream against me, and the sky still hadn’t cleared up. Like the world knew today was a bad day and just wanted to reflect the turmoil inside of me-- how nice. Again Gaia is showing her support for my sorrow.

The sound of wheels in the gravel was loud in the silence. I wasn’t ready to leave. I wanted to stay with them for as long as I could. For a split second, that felt like an eternity, I imagined that they were getting out of the car. That it was them who came up to me and frowned down at my odd behavior. 

“Get up or you’ll get sick. I won’t take care of ya.” Ah, Mom would look irritated, Dad amused. 

I would stubbornly refuse then lift my arms in the universal gesture to be held. They would laugh and bend down to stroke the wet hair out of my face. One would pick me up in a princess hold, just like the days when I would fall asleep on the couch so they’d have to carry me to bed. 

But the illusion broke when I opened my eyes to find my brothers hairy face instead of theirs. 

“It’s late and raining.” He said, pointing out the obvious. 

I stare, rather blankly, up at him. I kept the sarcastic: Thanks for the weather update Captain Obvious, In my head. He had leverage if he decided to wrestle. He had hold of an umbrella and kept himself dry. I guess he didn’t believe in being one with nature like I did. 

The rain was hard enough that a steady stream flowed off of the umbrella and onto my stomach. Either he didn’t notice or didn’t seem to care since I was already soaked. 

He held his hand out and I started just as blankly at it as I did his face earlier. His voice was rough when he spoke again, “I loved them too. But they wouldn’t want you dead with them. Get up.” Brother was irritated. Why was he so composed? Maybe I’d ask one day, but for now, some part of me realized he kinda had a point. 

The hand that was pressed against the stone seemed to be stuck, like a kid who licked a frozen pole in December, so I gave him my other one. He grasped it firmly then pulled me up as gently as possible. My hand was completely white against his tanned skin. 

The arm that was stretched above my head had fallen to my side-- my shoulder joint ached. It was to the point I wasn’t sure if my tears were from the pain in my heart or the dislocated shoulder. 

Brother even had to hold me up because my legs were malfunctioning from the cold. Maybe I was a robot and my gears were rusty from all the rain, but if I was a robot I wouldn’t have feelings thus wouldn’t be in the rain. Anyways, pressed against my brother I could see the gloomy tombstone. 

I could see the faces of my mother and father smiling at me. The artist had done a great job, the image looked like a sticker on the stone. Maybe it was a sticker. 

I looked down and saw the imprint of my body fill up-- the water black. 

“Com’on we need to go and get you in a hot bath.” Still so rationale my brother. Even though we were standing over our parents grave. 

“Love you,” I said to them, and to him. 

And with that, I heard my brother cough and sniffle, I wasn’t sure if he was crying or if it was the cold rain. But his body stiffened and quivered every now and then on our way to the car. I kept my eyes away from his to give him the privacy he wished he had.

We left with me staring out the window. Watching the grave get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. 

‘Death comes in threes’ is the saying and I’m pretty sure my soul died that day. I think that counts, please let it count God, so no one else has to die. 

Reviews

[wordman]

it reads like the making of a great book

[Kathrine Rethorn]

Sadly this is only meant to be a short story not a novel. Though I could only imagine the mystery I could make out of it.

[wordman]

i bet you could !