|The Rains (standard:Psychological fiction, 1146 words)|
|Author: Db||Added: Jun 18 2004||Views/Reads: 1856/1102||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This story chronicles my life long sturggle against "the rains." As the story progresses, it becomes clear that "the rains" is a metafore for despression|
It's 6 p.m. and the rains are driving against my window. The pounding is so deafening that I can barely hear myself think, yet so entrancing that I can't think of anything else to ponder. The rains have been falling for the better part of my life, whether it be a gentle drizzle or a torrential downpour. Over the years I've learned to accept the rains and live within their bounds, not to step outside for fear of getting soaked, not to live my life for fear of drowning in the treturous currents that encircle my home. I'll always remember the first time I experienced the rains; I was but a child. Staring through the window, I was transfixed with the water as it slowly dropped from the sky. I followed each drop as it descended from the heavens and hit the ground, slowly eroding everything in its pathway. The earth was so bare at that time; the water had no where to go but straight ahead, rushing towards some unknown destination. As time passed, I was no longer entranced by the rains, but instead angry because it prevented me from going outside and enjoying life. When it did finally stop, I cautiously ventured outside as the dark clouds loomed ominous overhead. After a few short hours, the rains had completely evaporated, once again leaving a barren landscape. On closer inspection, however, I realized that the land was no longer flat, but that tiny riverbeds had formed, etched out by the merciless rains. As I grew, the rains returned more and more frequently, although they were often erratic. Long periods of showers ended abruptly, ushering in a magnificent sunshine that made me forget all about the rains. I played as hard I could during those increasingly brief respites, capturing every possible moment of freedom and happiness because I knew that the rains would return, whether it be in a matter or days, months or, infrequently, years. The dark clouds always hung in the distance, waiting to make their grand re-entrance and drown all signs of a happiness that I had been holding so dear. As I developed into a teenager, the dark clouds were a constant fixture as the sun shrivelled into a hazy speck somewhere beyond the horizon. I always knew the light was there, but I couldn't feel its warmth. It always seemed to be shining for others, their faces tanned as they basked in the glorious light. But I couldn't see it. I knew it was there, but I just couldn't make it out amongst those damned clouds that hung so low, so low that I felt like I could touch them. I often tried to reach for them, to rip them out of the sky, but the end result was always the same: the rains came down even harder. So I stopped trying. It took me years to come to the conclusion, but I eventually realized that the harder I tried, the harder the rains would fall. I tried to reason with them, promise them things that I could not possibly deliver. I tried to bargain. I used to say that if only the sun would come out today, the rains could pummel for the rest of the month. I waited. I waited for the sun to finally peek through the clouds. I stared up at the sky until my eyes hurt. And there were times when the sun would start to break through. The clouds would part and a few solitary rays would reach the earth, filling me hope for the future. But it was not to be. As soon as those rays shone upon my pale, sickly face, more clouds would sweep in and the rains would cascade even harder than before. Perhaps they weren't falling harder; perhaps I was so disappointed at having a rare hope snatched away that it only felt that way. Eventually, I knew that I had to do something about the rains. I laid down on my bed and thoroughly thought it through. After much deliberation, I realized that the only thing I could do would be to accept the rains as they were, learn to live under the blackened skies, learn to breathe the thick air. So that's what I did. At first it was difficult. Naturally, I wanted to rebel against the rains, but I had to remind myself that this was my new plan of action. I dared not say it aloud, but I hoped that in accepting the rains and even thriving despite them, that would show them that I was a survivor, that nothing was going to bring me down. At that point, they would realize that to continue would be pointless, and they would finally move out to sea. But it didn't happen. I tried to live, but the drops kept falling. I Click here to read the rest of this story (34 more lines)
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