The Endless Rain

• Donald Bown, Grade 10, Upper Coomera State College
• Short Story
• 2019

Finalist in the 'Just Keep Writing 2019' competition

The night was cold and dreary. Rays of moonlight seeped through the clouds, casting gloomy rays upon the forest path. Seated a few paces from Cyrus was another teenage boy, his head masked by the shadows of the thick trees.
“Clark?” he called out to the darkened figure.
Clark stood up, beckoning Cyrus to follow as he made his way down the damp footpath. Deeper into the forest they both went until they reached the oak they had seen so many times before.
“You said it’s changed?” Cyrus inquired.
Clark nodded, forsaking the path to vanish behind the base of the tree. Puzzled, Cyrus followed. Amongst the tangled roots, there was a hole, barely large enough to crawl through.
He clambered down the hole, only to find a chamber walled in by knotted vines. Clark was gone. At his feet laid a single crystal no bigger than his fingernail, lighting the space like a candle. He approached it, enchanted by the swirling waves of light crashing against his eyes. His outstretched hand snatched the crystal. It stung his hand, freezing his fingers closed. His hand went numb, then his body, and then his mind, as he felt the roots and vines pressing against him.
Cyrus awoke in front of a cot with a sleeping toddler. He immediately recognised his room, but not his room as he remembered. Many of the decorations he knew were gone for an assortment of toys. From downstairs, he heard a man. Alarmed, he flew down the household stairs. He saw his father, sobbing wildly, bent over another figure. The red and blue lights flashed against the windows, as his father shook his mother, begging her to come back.
The vines coiled around Cyrus’ body, whispering blurred messages into his ears.
“That moment changed you,” the vines murmured.
“Yes,” said Cyrus, the words forced from him.
“Did it make you stronger?” screeched the vines.
“Yes,” he stated.
“No. This is not strength,” the vines said, as his surroundings changed again.
He stood in a room lit by a window. The moonlight shone upon a bed, betraying a figure sprawled across the mattress, his face in shadow. The light flicked on, engulfing the room. Clark laid on his bed, pills spilling from the bottle in his hand. Cyrus recoiled, and as he did, the vines pulled him from his dreams.
“No… that’s not possible. I don’t understand,” he stuttered, the vines slithering like snakes.
“Why would you?” the vines hissed, “You never asked him.” Cyrus was silent.
“Moments form and fall like rain. Unless you truly listen, you hear only noise, and never the suffering of others. Your own suffering thickened your skin but closed your eyes. Your empathy was traded for intolerance.” The vines released him. “You have seen the consequences of your inaction,” the vines breathed, “but not all that is seen is known. Perhaps you still have time.”
He awoke in his bed, as the crystal fell from his hand to the floor.