Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own fairytales. I want to sure, but you can't always have what you want.
A/N: Hey, I'm back but with a totally different setting. I wrote this story about six months ago and it has been corrected, picked at, plucked at, and definitely had a change of scene. I've always wanted to post it and I'm glad I'm finally going to. It's a two-parter, and the next piece will be up very soon. I'd like to give a very huge THANKYOU to slam a revolving door, who edited this for me, and did a fantastic job, and Auriela who told me to change it completely. Hope you enjoy.
Rain
Her….
Splat. Plop. The rain falls, not heavily, but continuously. She watches it. Watches the brick driveway get soaked in the rain. The never-ending rain.
The window is open. She sits on her chair looking out at the rain. Embracing the piercing cold that runs through her body. Watching the rain. Noticing how the rain falls diagonally. Noticing the collected droplets of water being shaken from the grasps of the many leaves from which they have been caught.
Her sleeveless shirt leaves her arms with goose bumps, but she barely takes note of them. Finally the rain ceases and she mourns its loss. All that is left are the remaining drops that occasionally fall from the leaves.
She observes the feeling of mourning, and of loss, but she doesn't ponder on it. She already knows why she feels it -she has felt it often. It is because of her memories of what could have happened, what was to come, and how it couldn't. Because it was the rain that had started it all, all this mess that she was in, the unforgivable rain which she loved. The rain that caused her grief, but then, the rain that helped her to overcome the loss of something too big to replace. For her heart now lay in a thousand pieces on the ground -after being tugged, ripped and torn - and there was nothing that could patch them back up. Not even the rain.
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'And now we come to a new piece I the gallery, one by Maggie Bliton…' I tune out to my teacher's continuous drone. It's my first day back. Back at a place I thought I would never be at. School. Luckily this outing for our drawing class was on today. I don't think I can handle the whole school yet.
I study the painting before me and immediately catch my breath. It resembles… I look over at him and see that he is also completely enchanted by it. My breath is in my throat. A tear threatens to make itself seen, but I stubbornly hide it away. There are no friends here to comfort me. I look at my feet and take a deep breath, then yet again focus my gaze on the painting.
It is of two people, in the rain. They are black silhouettes, yet painted in fine detail. The deep blues almost overtake them, but they are there in clear black. White wind swirls around them in a messy stoke so unlike the fine strokes that make up the silhouettes. Then there is the rain. Hard, short, thick, paint carelessly thrown on the canvas. It would be a fantastic painting if it had not reminded me of a time I had thought I had left behind.
It had started while before with the rain. I had stood at the gazebo in the middle of the school, leaning against one of the pillars examining the rain as it mournfully showered the grounds in a slight misty way. The gazebo overlooked the lake and I watched the weeping willows tearfully bend over the water that was being tickled by thousands of droplets.
He had come and leant on the pillar beside mine, and instead of watching the rain, watched me. We had talked, and I felt myself open up to him like I had done to no one except my closest of friends: my sister Imogen. I think that it was then that I looked at him in a different light. A light that I had never seen before.
He was good company. Not of the sort that you felt you had to converse all the time. But one who you would be fine to sit in silence until a question, or a thought came to mind. There wasn't a rush to do anything. I started falling then, I think, but I did not know.
When he left, it wasn't the last time I spoke to him. We saw each other more and more not only at school, but outside of it as well. He shared my delight in books, so we would be often seen reading together in the library playing footsies under the table, hiding smiles with straight faces.
We'd fool around at the park, teasing each other and laughing. We'd have so much fun. We often went for lengthy walks as well, watching the beautiful scenery.
I fell faster then than ever before. I found myself counting the days that I could see him again. I knew then what it was.
I found myself falling carefully and slowly, but very definitely in love with him. Each smile would send shivers up my spine. Every laugh would make me smile. Every word would have me I wonder if that was what hurt me the most in the end.
And then the fateful ball came. I did not wish to go. He didn't get invited, instead he had a job being one of the waiters, and I think that when I should have realised that it would only end in disaster.
The night was beautiful at first, dark and cloudy, but just the right temperature. Father and mother went first to fix the last couple of things up. That was when the rain started, soaking anything in sight.
My maid dressed me and twirled and twisted my hair into the latest fashion. Then I was ready. I was late, due to the rain. I had asked the driver to wait for a moment while I watched it. Then he escorted me to the door.
I entered the ball in a sleeveless gown made from emerald silk. It had moved with me, circling around, like an uncontrolled puppet ballet dancer. The dress was fancy and suited the ball, but instead of over the top jewellery like all the other women were wearing I wore a simple silver chain which hung very low, so my dress hid the locket at the bottom. This 'statement' as my mother called it, was much to her dislike.
The ball was held in the castle on the hill. It was a beautiful place, one that wasn't often used, only for the rare ball. It was normally left deserted and most kids would come up to play hide and seek.
I had seen him at the far end of the room. His beautiful face was dark with envy. Envy of those around him. He held a platter to a large man next to him, and watched in disgust as the man helped himself to an amount as large as himself.
He felt my gaze and looked up. What I saw before me shocked me so much that I could barely speak.
Hatred was written all over his face. I turned away from him, not willing to let him see my tears. He had hurt me, more than I could think. I stood in a daze looking out a large window watching the moon shine ever so brightly illuminating the raindrops that cascaded down from the clouds above. The beauty over took me and I let myself absorb it.
I turned my gaze away from the enchanting moon and stared wistfully around the room. What I saw did not please me. My father was coming slowly closer to me while talking to a young man. He would not acknowledge the beauty that the moon held. So I escaped. Running up a narrow staircase, which led to a dark corridor.
I closed the door behind me and slid down. His face that was filled with hatred came back to haunt me. Tears burst from me coming out with dry racked sobs.
I took deep breaths to calm myself. Once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I took a look around the corridor. It was nothing special, it was what it led to that really intrigued me. I heard it before I saw it. It was the pitter-patter of raindrops on paving.
I walked through an archway and came to an amazing room. It was a real spectacle. The ceiling was cut out. It was a circular room with pillars surrounding the rim where there was a small pathway of shelter. The floor was decorated with bright tiles in patterns. The room swam in a sea of colours utterly breath taking. I watched the rain, wind weaving in and out with my dress.
After a while I heard heavy footsteps. He appeared, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but there.
'Your father is looking for you.' He turned to leave but I grabbed his wrist.
'What have I done? What have I done to make you so angry?' I said, my voice a low whisper, barely bordering anger.
'What have you done? My fair lady, you have no need to continue this act any further.' A cloud passed over the moon, leaving us in darkness, silhouettes.
'I have no idea what you mean.' My teeth gritted together.
'Are you saying you have no idea about your engagement? Was I just some toy that you used for you to play with until someone offered? You were never serious about me were you? I should have known that you would be like all the others.' He walked forward, and I walked backwards, into the rain, I didn't care though, I was too shocked over what he had said.
'What? I'm not engaged.'
'Oh yes, your father was just doing a role-play when he said agreed to give your hand?' his voce was dripping with sarcasm. I was speechless. The rain pounded on our heads, but I didn't care. Wind whipped around us in a violent dance. I noticed how close his face was to mine and looked into his eyes. They told nothing but truth. My mouth opened as I came to the realisation that my father wouldn't pause at an engagement. He had betrayed me.
'What... How…When?' Words spluttered out of my mouth.
'Your father is waiting for you.' The he turned his back to me and left. I watched the rain soak through his clothes, seeing if he looked back, but he never did.
It wasn't the way the fairytale went. They're supposed to have happy endings. This one didn't, and I left my hiding place to find the world outside to violent for my fragile state.
It battled me until I could barely walk. I stayed in my room unable to move. Exhaustion stole away my energy until I was nothing but a body.
I had gone to my father where he had told me the truth. I was to marry Jarred Hinglton. I was shocked at the way he had said it. Like it was the most joyous thing in the world.
I became ill. My father barely noticed but I started staying in my room not seeing or hearing. That was when I started counting. The minutes of every day, every hour, of every week. It had helped me. Waiting was not what I was meant to do. I got sick of it and needed to see the sun.
So on the last day of my illness the rain had come and I had watched it. It had given me strength to stand up to him. I had told him that I would not marry. He took it as a joke at first. He learnt otherwise eventually when I left the house. I moved in with Imogen who was a couple of years my elder, already married. She was more than happy to look after me, wanting to see my recovery more than anything.
It is that that brings me back to now, staring at the painting that showed the rain that caused me so much grief.
So I look back at him again, to see a difference. But nothing has changed. I look back again at the painting and see something different. Instead of anger that was always present in my own life scene, it is love. I immediately feel jealous of the girl. For my story is not a fairy tale. No, the fairytale will always be stuck inside the painting, the painting which had once mirrored my life.