Rain

• Masad Alfayadh, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

We advanced towards the two storey complex. Above us, the skies were a dark hue of blue; they resembled the ocean’s tumultuous, tempestuous phases. It was certainly going to rain. I had always revered the rain. I loved it, especially during the night. It kindles hope within me. It asserted that even in the darkest hour, God will send something which will wash dirt away. I always imagined rain penetrating the callous skins of humans. I imagined it voyaging through the raw flesh and journeying the veins until it would reach the ultimate source of depravity: the heart. Then, rain, with its purity, would cleanse the heart.
No, rain was never going to arrive at that organ.
The heart’s blackness would prevail: always darkening its hue.
Upon heeding the thrice repeated summons of a man I knew, I entered through the gatelodge. Instantly, the visiting ward came into view. I observed the several seats organised for the inmates. This room had once, in its long history, symbolised welcome and hospitality. Now, it was merely a stage upon which artificial merry plays were preformed.
The glass revealed the adjacent exercise yard. It contained several machines that were overcome with rust. They had once been new and untarnished. They had once glittered in the sunlight. Now, as is the inevitable fate of everything, they lay waiting to be disposed of.
The treadmill was clad in a coat of dust; certain patterns of fingerprints were engraved upon its garment. There were also several bicycles which had once been assembled into a neat row. Now, a rebellion against the oppressive screws was initiated.
I disengaged my mind of the revolutions occurring within the region and continued inspecting the grim facility.
I perceived two wards which belonged to the inhabitants of the location. The first was average in size and condition. The walls were laden with colourful statements expressed by juvenile delinquents: statements officially declared unsuitable for any eye that had not been blinking for eighteen years. I continued to the second ward; it was more spacious than the previous and had its own ensuite. It was obviously inhabited by a discipline officer, perhaps two.
I was already bored of this house. We’d been inspecting houses all day now. My mother had placed me under duress to attend this irksome, aggravating journey. I retraced my steps through the house: through the master bedroom, the gym and then the lounge.
Once I was outside, I discerned a change in the weather. I breathed in fresh air. The intense, invigorating scent of lavender usurped my senses. Upon its venture, I felt my organs laze, my body slacken and an unprecedented sense of happiness spread from the aforementioned black organ.
For a split second, I thought I might smile.
Maybe someday, rain will penetrate the skin and wash the vile away.
For now, all we have is hope.