It rains

It rains.  It rains all the time.  Not just here and there, now and then, once or twice.  But all the time.  Day and night.  When I wake up it rains, and when I go to sleep it rains.  It won’t stop.  It can’t stop.  It’s the norm now.  I try to think back to when I was young, to a time when the sun shone but my thoughts aren’t clear.  We used to play in the parks and at the beach, and my mum used to rub cream on my skin so that I did not get burnt.  I loved it.  At least, I think I did.  It was bright and hot and fresh.  At least, I think it was.  The sky was blue and the clouds were white.  At least, I think they were.  I’m not too sure now.

I can’t pin point when the sun died.  I must have been nine or ten years old.  Crowds and crowds filled the streets.  We all stared up at the sky.  My mum held my hand.  Her grip was so tight, I thought she’d snap my hand right off.  My heart thumped as the sky filled with a flash of light.  I had to shield my eyes.  I thought I’d gone blind.  I let out a sigh and looked up.  The sky was dark.  The air was cold.  The world was quiet.   A small, pale orb of white was where the sun used to be.  The clouds moved in but they weren’t white.  They were grey in the main, and some were black.  The crowds stood still.  There was a low growl; it was as though the clouds had found their voice, and in no time at all, the rain fell. 

We all hoped for a change but a change did not come.  I can’t say that I like it.  I’m just used to it now, as though it had been this way for all time. 

The sounds don’t scare me now, like they used to.  The fat rain that pounds on ground still wakes me up, but the way it beats a tune can sooth me and help me fall back to sleep.  The thin rain that comes as a mist still soaks me to the skin, but it is cool and it coats all I see in a fine dew which makes the hues shine like gems.

At night the sky is more dark than it is through the day, just by a few shades of grey.  At times I take a walk at night, and stand on the beach with bare feet.  My toes sink in the sand, and though it feels like sludge, I close my eyes and I dream of a place where the sun and the rain could share the sky, where they could take turns to show their wares and play their games, and we would have time to rest, to dry off, to cool down.

But it rains.  It rains all the time.  Not just here and there, now and then, once or twice.  But all the time.  Day and night.  When I wake up it rains, and when I go to sleep it rains.  It won’t stop.  It can’t stop.  It’s the norm now.