Raindrops Fall

"Raindrops Fall"

I shut the door behind me, and after hearing the satisfying "click" of the lock, I walk on. There's a funny smell in the air. It's that smell that lingers after rain, the smell of wet paving and wet grass. I find it unpleasant. It's presence is nature's way of saying, "Look, it's stopped raining". I like the rain. I always have.

I continue out of the garden and down the footpath. I don't have anywhere in particular I want to go. Walking just helps me to forget everything - school, homework, parents, fights between friends - I don't know why, it just does. Today is no exception. Already I feel a little bit better.

"Maybe things aren't that bad", I think to myself, "Maybe I won't have to walk that far today. Maybe I'll cheer up in no time."

Raindrops fall.

Not many at first, but it gets heavier. After a short time, it's gone from a light drizzle to a downpour. Yes, I like the rain, but this is too heavy for my liking. It doesn't help my mood and I find myself sighing. Looks like I spoke too soon. One long walk coming right up.




Why do I like the rain? A question people ask me a lot. I suppose I like it because it's gloomy. I'm gloomy. We go well together, hand-in-hand.




I can't stay out in this. It's too heavy. I can feel it soaking through to my skin. My jeans are several shades darker than they were when I left. I have to find somewhere to take shelter. There's a sheltered place I know I can go to, I go there a lot. It's not too far away, actually, it's pretty close - a stroke of luck perhaps?

Not a hope. The rain gets even heavier. I break into a run. Water splashes onto me with each step.

After a couple of minutes I reach it. Out of breath and soaking wet. Perfect. Just perfect. I sitt myself in the corner and look around me. I'm in a seating area in a playground, usually where you see parents sitting, gossiping amongst each other, waiting impatiently for their poor toddler to get bored of the same old rusty swings and slides, so they can go home and get on with the rest of there miserable lives. It's made of concrete and it's cold, but at least it has a roof. I'm drenched. I don't mind, not at all, but when I get home, someone there will care, and undoubtedly there so called "caring" will end up in an arguement, another arguement.

Raindrops fall.

Another arguement. As I think these words, everything I've been trying to forget comes back. I pull my knees up to my chin, and bring the zip on my jumper right up, so it's covering my mouth. I grab my hood and let it down over my eyes. I feel lonely. I want to disappear.

Raindrops fall.