Rain Pendant

• Natalie Moorhead, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

Zosia's arms lifted to the sky, rain splattering across her pale skin. She seemed to feel as if something was lost. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. A heirloom, perhaps. Or something more important. But that wasn’t something to be worried about now. Her feet stood in puddles, seeming like a never-ending ocean, surrounded by patches of grass and vibrant, eye-catching flowers. She moved with the rhythm of the rain, water spilling over her azure-coloured shoes. They were bright blue, like a cloudless sky. Her hoodie dripped with water droplets, hitting the grass blades below. Grass becomes glossy, reflecting the light, a new bright shine to them, softly swaying with the sound of the rain.

This world seemed marginally more beautiful with rain, her soft brown hair blowing in the wind. The clouds race across the sky, thrumming with the charged energy they are desperate to release. If you were to stand in the meadow, the drops would feel as sparkly and luminescent as bubbles in a drink. A homely, baked-earth smell rises from the land, as the earth is washed and cleansed by the dewy tears of autumn rain.

Rain seems oblivious to the life it gives, it washes the world, quenching the soil and the life whom depend on it. It falls like poetry; each drop is a single letter in a song that takes eons to sing. Droplets are as large as a cartoon tear, and fall as if gravity was turned up a notch.

The sky stands dark and vengeful, wind whipping into a frenzy. Petrichor, the smell of the first rains after a dry smell, rises like a cloud. Lightning strikes, lighting up the overcast sky.

Zosia is soaked, smothered by the water, but continues to stand in the meadow. The clouds are wild and indiscriminate, sending missiles of mass destruction that splatter into the soft soil. The rain has given what the sun would take away. The sun-crisped flowers of the meadow no longer wilt, as water falls down their petals like tears. Even looking around, even recalling the rain, it didn’t feel real for a while.

Out of the corner of Zosia’s eye, as if it were a prophecy, something caught her eye. A flash of silver, or perhaps gold. She leant down, wind hitting her face as if an icy blade. A necklace. She reached out for it, the slightly tangled chain hanging between her fingers. There was a pendant, around the size of a penny, with a rain-washed star, holding five points, and a smaller triangle inscribed in the middle. She clenched it in her hand, allowing the water to soak onto her skin, softening her hands, and closing her eyes for a moment. It seemed to bring her a sense of warmth she hadn’t had before. A good omen, it must be. A heirloom, perhaps. Or something more important.