The Rain
Rated: PG
Author's notes: Thanks for reading. Thanks for reviewing. Give me a study hall and I'll give you a story!! :-) Apoligizing for any gramatical errors because English isn't my best subject but I did try to correct most of it!!!
Email: ellaspyrka@yahoo.com
He looked up at the clear, dark blue sky. The stars shone so brightly, like a Christmas tree lit up in the middle of a forest, with no other lights around. The stars ranged in size from tiny specks of distant white shimmer to vivid yellow dabs of shining gold. There were no lights here to block the view, nor tall buildings to obstruct the radiance of the night. No cars stepping on the gas to get through a red light. No people laughing or talking. Just silence and crickets, and an occasional swish of plant leaves by the wind. A cough would break out, just enough to remind him why and where he was. He was in Africa. Deep in the forests of the unknown. Places where a person could disappear to and never be noticed. Places where the most exotic animals and plants bred. Places where the most danger lied.
He sat out on the make-shift porch, the wood decaying underneath him, creaking with every slight movement. It was cooler outside, a weak breeze billowing through the war torn land, carrying hopes and dreams... families... happiness... all away. Far away, never to be seen again. He held a glass in his arms, the already warm liquid still forming condensation on the glass. It was humid. Rain was likely. Rain was both good and bad. No rain. No water. No life. How such a simple thing caused so much dependency. Rain was essential like air to everything. It sustained life. And how people would go to any lengths to get it. Even if it was dirty, infected, putrid. it was used and reused. Every last precious drop. Unlike at home where the water was let run before a shower or during a bath. For every gallon wasted a baby could have had a drop of clean water to drink. For health. For happiness. For life. Rain was key for food, for drinking, for crops. No rain meant no food. And no food meant death. As if the millions of tons thrown out each day wouldn't be enough... Or rain could be bad. too much meant flooding. No homes, no beds, no crops. And once again, no food. Everything was controlled in modern civilization. But this place wasn't modern. But it was a civilization. With people who learned to appreciate what they have, everything a blessing. Everyday more that they live, a sign from god.
And they were truly happy. Family and friends were the only things that kept them going. Life back home for him was so money oriented. You had to have the best, show-off your new house, your new car your new whatever. they had everything and yet were unhappy. These people had nothing but were happy. They had the most important things: things money could never buy, or be replaced. Things that only are written about in fairy tales. Family. Trust. Friends. Unity. Love. Money was a joke. Who knew a little green piece of paper would be able to control the entire world. A piece of paper has the ability to sustain or end life. A piece of paper can determine your family, your friends, you. You as an individual. As a whole. A whole lifetime can be spent earning money, those damn pieces of paper, and what are you supposed to do with it when you're gone? Have it buried with you? Take it to hell and pay your way to heaven? He didn't need the millions, nor the thousands even. Love and friendship could sustain you through the best, and even the worst times. Yet he had neither. So maybe the money was a comfort, because you could always buy friends.
The one person that had accepted, had treasured him for who he was, not what he could be, or never would be. He left her slip away. The events unfolded before him. The misunderstandings, the tears, the pain. And nothing hurts more. Love is a disease without a cure. You never fully recover, nor go into remission. You never stop fighting. It's like a tumor, a cancer, only with uncomparable side effects. Because with cancer you still have that hope, that hope that maybe you will be okay. You know the consequences. The chemo, the therapy, the pills, the suffering. Love is incurable. there are no treatments, no pills, no help. You suffer. Suffer through endless nights and prolonged days. You toss and turn. You cry and hate. And you can never escape it. If follows you, haunts you, mimics you, controls you. And you cannot do anything but succumb to it. You have no other way out. there is no other way out.
He held her picture between his fingers. Flipping it over time and time again. The shine of the sky reflected on the glossy picture paper. But he could see her. Every hair on her head in place, the dark blonde hair alive with a sloppy array of highlights, it was let down, loose. The ends slightly uneven, she hadn't cut it in months. Her bangs, still too short, falling gently to the sides of her face, framing her exhausted expression. Her eyebrows neatly arched, giving her the looks of a sophisticated woman rather than what she really was, a hardworking, dedicated nurse. Her eyes jetted out like the stars in the sky. The deep, rich, chocolate brown eyes that he had gazed into, and never realized their true worth, their true capacity. The dark bags under her eyes, from too many shifts, too little sleep, too many worries.
The accented cheekbones he could make out, even now. the look of maturity and reason. her tiny nose, fitting her face so well. Her lips, small but full. They drove him to the edge. Lips that he had tasted for the first time and instantly became addicted. Lips that he could never get enough of. They tasted of fresh strawberries, sweet, straight from the sun on a summer day. Or snowflakes from the first snow of the year. Or fresh rain, a slight mist on a warm spring day. Unknowingly mixing everything together. it was the essence of her. He yearned to be with her, holding her. Whispering sweet nothings to her. He wanted to feel the softness of her touch, hear her voice, the sound of angels. Yet it had been over five months. Five months since he had last seen her, or talked to her. For five months he had been living in this ultimate pain that never seemed to subside. Five months realizing he left her when she needed him most. Four years wishing he could be with her. One year being the happiest man alive, and in one millisecond he lost her. And now he was lost. He couldn't breathe. Nor thing. Nor act. She engulfed his world. He hated to admit it. He had a dependency, like life needed water, he needed her. But he would never have her. He had screamed, wanted to be let free, out of the shackles that bound him from flying, what he didn't realize was that he was soaring with her. And now he was like a bird with a broken wing. Forgotten. Alone. In pain. He had hurled uncertainties, blame, hate, all at her. She didn't deserve him. He didn't know who he was anymore. Where he was heading. What was going to happen. He was lost, in the world of the lonely. Forever.
He got up slowly, wiping a single tear slowly from his cheek. Who was he without her?
Rated: PG
Author's notes: Thanks for reading. Thanks for reviewing. Give me a study hall and I'll give you a story!! :-) Apoligizing for any gramatical errors because English isn't my best subject but I did try to correct most of it!!!
Email: ellaspyrka@yahoo.com
He looked up at the clear, dark blue sky. The stars shone so brightly, like a Christmas tree lit up in the middle of a forest, with no other lights around. The stars ranged in size from tiny specks of distant white shimmer to vivid yellow dabs of shining gold. There were no lights here to block the view, nor tall buildings to obstruct the radiance of the night. No cars stepping on the gas to get through a red light. No people laughing or talking. Just silence and crickets, and an occasional swish of plant leaves by the wind. A cough would break out, just enough to remind him why and where he was. He was in Africa. Deep in the forests of the unknown. Places where a person could disappear to and never be noticed. Places where the most exotic animals and plants bred. Places where the most danger lied.
He sat out on the make-shift porch, the wood decaying underneath him, creaking with every slight movement. It was cooler outside, a weak breeze billowing through the war torn land, carrying hopes and dreams... families... happiness... all away. Far away, never to be seen again. He held a glass in his arms, the already warm liquid still forming condensation on the glass. It was humid. Rain was likely. Rain was both good and bad. No rain. No water. No life. How such a simple thing caused so much dependency. Rain was essential like air to everything. It sustained life. And how people would go to any lengths to get it. Even if it was dirty, infected, putrid. it was used and reused. Every last precious drop. Unlike at home where the water was let run before a shower or during a bath. For every gallon wasted a baby could have had a drop of clean water to drink. For health. For happiness. For life. Rain was key for food, for drinking, for crops. No rain meant no food. And no food meant death. As if the millions of tons thrown out each day wouldn't be enough... Or rain could be bad. too much meant flooding. No homes, no beds, no crops. And once again, no food. Everything was controlled in modern civilization. But this place wasn't modern. But it was a civilization. With people who learned to appreciate what they have, everything a blessing. Everyday more that they live, a sign from god.
And they were truly happy. Family and friends were the only things that kept them going. Life back home for him was so money oriented. You had to have the best, show-off your new house, your new car your new whatever. they had everything and yet were unhappy. These people had nothing but were happy. They had the most important things: things money could never buy, or be replaced. Things that only are written about in fairy tales. Family. Trust. Friends. Unity. Love. Money was a joke. Who knew a little green piece of paper would be able to control the entire world. A piece of paper has the ability to sustain or end life. A piece of paper can determine your family, your friends, you. You as an individual. As a whole. A whole lifetime can be spent earning money, those damn pieces of paper, and what are you supposed to do with it when you're gone? Have it buried with you? Take it to hell and pay your way to heaven? He didn't need the millions, nor the thousands even. Love and friendship could sustain you through the best, and even the worst times. Yet he had neither. So maybe the money was a comfort, because you could always buy friends.
The one person that had accepted, had treasured him for who he was, not what he could be, or never would be. He left her slip away. The events unfolded before him. The misunderstandings, the tears, the pain. And nothing hurts more. Love is a disease without a cure. You never fully recover, nor go into remission. You never stop fighting. It's like a tumor, a cancer, only with uncomparable side effects. Because with cancer you still have that hope, that hope that maybe you will be okay. You know the consequences. The chemo, the therapy, the pills, the suffering. Love is incurable. there are no treatments, no pills, no help. You suffer. Suffer through endless nights and prolonged days. You toss and turn. You cry and hate. And you can never escape it. If follows you, haunts you, mimics you, controls you. And you cannot do anything but succumb to it. You have no other way out. there is no other way out.
He held her picture between his fingers. Flipping it over time and time again. The shine of the sky reflected on the glossy picture paper. But he could see her. Every hair on her head in place, the dark blonde hair alive with a sloppy array of highlights, it was let down, loose. The ends slightly uneven, she hadn't cut it in months. Her bangs, still too short, falling gently to the sides of her face, framing her exhausted expression. Her eyebrows neatly arched, giving her the looks of a sophisticated woman rather than what she really was, a hardworking, dedicated nurse. Her eyes jetted out like the stars in the sky. The deep, rich, chocolate brown eyes that he had gazed into, and never realized their true worth, their true capacity. The dark bags under her eyes, from too many shifts, too little sleep, too many worries.
The accented cheekbones he could make out, even now. the look of maturity and reason. her tiny nose, fitting her face so well. Her lips, small but full. They drove him to the edge. Lips that he had tasted for the first time and instantly became addicted. Lips that he could never get enough of. They tasted of fresh strawberries, sweet, straight from the sun on a summer day. Or snowflakes from the first snow of the year. Or fresh rain, a slight mist on a warm spring day. Unknowingly mixing everything together. it was the essence of her. He yearned to be with her, holding her. Whispering sweet nothings to her. He wanted to feel the softness of her touch, hear her voice, the sound of angels. Yet it had been over five months. Five months since he had last seen her, or talked to her. For five months he had been living in this ultimate pain that never seemed to subside. Five months realizing he left her when she needed him most. Four years wishing he could be with her. One year being the happiest man alive, and in one millisecond he lost her. And now he was lost. He couldn't breathe. Nor thing. Nor act. She engulfed his world. He hated to admit it. He had a dependency, like life needed water, he needed her. But he would never have her. He had screamed, wanted to be let free, out of the shackles that bound him from flying, what he didn't realize was that he was soaring with her. And now he was like a bird with a broken wing. Forgotten. Alone. In pain. He had hurled uncertainties, blame, hate, all at her. She didn't deserve him. He didn't know who he was anymore. Where he was heading. What was going to happen. He was lost, in the world of the lonely. Forever.
He got up slowly, wiping a single tear slowly from his cheek. Who was he without her?