Rain

• Arielle Holland, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2018

The rain beats down creating its own song. The grass, once like emerald soldiers, lays flat under its pressure. The sky, which was once forget-me-not blue, is now shrouded in a thick, grey coat. The trees stand tall and proud against the beating rain.

No birds fly about or sing their cheerful songs. They are sensible and hide in the trees. No small creature wanders through the grass, for they are dry and safe at home. No insects buzz, no person calls out. There is only the rain.

It is quiet, too quiet for words. No sound is made, sans the pitter patter of the rain. The world, once full of bright, lively colours, is now concealed in a blanket of mist.

Nothing moves, apart from the rain. All is deathly still, as if there is an unspoken vow at play. Everything looks to be painted stone. Cold, unmoving, yet certainly there. There is no wind that picks leaves from the trees. There is no break in the blanket of clouds. There is only the rain.

The passing of time is hard to tell, for the sun has left and taken its warmth with it. It could be night, it could be day, it could be somewhere in between. No one knows the time though, for it is all dark under the cover of the rain.

There is an insatiable bleakness that seems to radiate from the ground. A drowsiness that shrouds all and makes everything seem tired. The music of the rain is lonely and dismal. The entire world seems to be dozing in a deep slumber. The only thing that is awake is the rain.

The soft pitter patter that fills the air is slowly but surely replaced by a slightly louder splish splash. The small dents and ruts that the earth will always have are filled to the brim with water from the sky. The trees are drenched and droplets fall to the already soaked ground. Grass and wild flowers are nearly submerged by the water. Slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, the rain covers the earth.

Water, which was once rain, long ago, gently laps at the base of the trees. It is soft and gentle, yet cold and harsh. It moves like liquid, yet seems to freeze all it touches. Gradually the water rises, gaining height amongst the trunks. The rain, which once softly touched the earth, now floods it.

The rain beats a steady rhythm. It does not increase, it does not slow down. The sun that was once bright and lively, can be seen no longer. The sky now seems to be a forever grey. The trees that once stood proud and tall, slump and lose their figure. There is no sound apart from the rain.

There once was a world full of life and colour. There once was a sun full of heat and light. The world was once wide awake, but now there is only the rain.