A single drop, rolled down her tear stained cheek. The water from above washed away the dirt, hurt, and pain of the day. Another. And another. The mild shower turned into a full fledged monsoonal deluge. And as it poured around her, threatening to wash the known world away, she lifted her hands from her sides, raised them skywards, and began to spin.
-------
Who hadn't been told not to to out in the rain? Who hadn't been warned of the myriad respiratory diseases, hospital visits, and disappointed parents that would ensue, from the simple act of stepping out into the vertical flood? And who also, hadn't broken those rules, for a quick sprint in the deluge, the sound of laughter mixing with the repetitive pitter patter of raindrops striking both the hard ground, and their predecessors on it- despite the warnings of death and doom that everyone was taught from birth.
It was because the rain brought out something primal within us... Both joy that the watering holes would once again be filled, and the dread of the cold night ahead. Happiness, that the crops would be well nourished, and that drought would be one less problem to worry about... And anxiety, that the rains wouldn't let up, and that they'd flood the very crops they were just being praised for feeding.
The paradox, the necessity... And the mother of human life.
----
Around, around, around again, her vision a whirlpool, her world a vortex of confusion, just like her mind. She spun faster, harder, savouring the taste of raindrops on her tongue, the borderline pain they evoked as they hit her skin in a rushed frenzy, like starved fish tearing at the one piece of food lowered into the tank. She embraced the sting- it was as if it fed her into spinning even faster, and thus she did, caught in a dance of death between a mere mortal and an omnipresent celestial founder of civilizations.
-----
With the condescending and changeable rain, came her imposing bodyguards of thunder and lighting, striking both awe and fear into the hearts of those they towered over. Destined to arrive, bellow loudly and visibly, and die out soon enough, leaving only the shadow of their existence to haunt, and remind those they haunted not to step out of their homes too soon. Quieter though, but ever present, was the wind, cunningly delving between the trees, sifting through the bodies, rising and falling and blowing and stilling itself, letting the spotlight be taken by its three major companions, as it stole the show from the sidelines. For despite all the fear that the holy trinity drew out of their audience, it was the wind that really ran havoc. Blowing down trees that had stood through wars, knocking over tiles and sending them crashing to the ground in an imitation of thunderous crashes, carrying the cold of other regions down to the skin of the rain soaked child, chilling her to the bone, numbing her soul.
Oh, yes, it was the wind that truly stole this show.
-------
As she turned, it was as if the memories and events of the day spun out of her too, and surrounded her in the flashes of light she saw in the twilight sky. She was the creator of a tornado, a whirlwind of emotions and gusts of pain, and she was the center of this one universe.
It wasnt as if she hadn't been the center of other universes. More tangible, real universes, one could argue. Her tear stained cheeks were a testament to the her other, permanent universe, where the winds of that world had cut against her like a river cutting against a rock, slowly but surely, whittling her down into what it wanted her to be, what it deemed fit for her to be. Cutting, sawing, slicing, shaving, pressing, touching, rubbing, eroding. Melting her away till she was but smooth pebble in the way, carried along by the waved of the river, destined to always have it's way.
Her other universe was dominated by people, buildings, and man made sounds. She did well in the toy city, in the routine days of school and sleep, went through her fair share of stresses and sorrows, and all in all, believed she was carrying on just fine. But she had something that pulled people towards her. Something that the rest of the "just fine" herd did not have. They heard it when she sang, even tunelessly, to whatever song her ears caught wind of. They saw it when she laughed, raucously, improperly, at things they were told not to find humour in. They felt it in her embraces, her tight hugs, a warmth throbbing from within that lit not just her, but the very air she inhaled, the very ground she stood on, in a swell of heat and passion.
And it was thus, that they decided, that this flame must be stamped out.
