Let The Rain Sing You A Lullaby
It's raining in Paris, but this has nothing to do with out story. (Except perhaps everything.)
It's raining in Paris, and in Tokyo too.
Thick, grey sheets of the stuff muting the world. Of color, of sound, of smell, of everything.
A woman stands in the middle of the road, in the middle of a puddle. The hem of her skirt is wet but her shoes are dry. (Against every law of the natural world.) She carries an umbrella over her shoulder, its open but one gets the feeling its only for show. As though the rain would never touch her.
A thought so far from the truth as to be rediculous.
Because this woman is the rain. She is every storm that pass over the mountains. She is every hurricane that hits the coastlines. She is every spare drop that lands in the desert, only to vanish in seconds, swallowed by the parched sands.
She causes the floods that ruin and take lives. She brings the gentle showers that ensure food for the farmers. She feeds the rivers. She fills the lakes.
And this woman has no name. Or maybe she has a million. Her name is every name every culture ever gave to rain and the spirits of such. She is Ame, and she is Regen, she is Chuva and Pioggia, Hujan, Zapor and Mvua.
But really, truly, she is nameless.
"Hey, Onee-san!" A child's voice calls to her as a child's hand pulls on the wet hem of her dress.
"Oh?" She mutters to rain infused air. "You can see me?" She doesn't bend to look at the child. She might have been talking to no one for all the attention she pays.
"Of course!" The child chirps. With the innocence of youth he doesn't ask why he wouldn't be able to see her. "Your shoes aren't wet."
"No, they aren't." Finally this woman (who wasn't at all a woman, just the rain) bends down to look at him. He is a very normal child. Outwardly special in no way. But he can see her. "You're very observant."
"Yeah! My mom says that if I didn't see it, it wasn't there!" He bounces excitedly on his toes, not at all questioning why her shoes aren't wet given the puddle she's standing in.
"Is that so." It issn't a question. She has lost interest. She stands and begins walking away. The child follows.
"Why are you out in the rain?" He askes as he skips besides her, making sure to jump in every puddle along the way. He splashes her once, accidently, and waits for the outrage, the lecturing. It doesn't come. She doesn't even seem to notice. Enboldened he jumps into more and more puddles, sometimes splashing her sometimes not. He doesn't notice that she doesn't answer his question.
"Do you like the rain?" She asks eventually. They've walked for ten minutes now, and she's been splashed numerous times. Her shoes are still dry.
"Uh-huh." He nods enthusiastically. "My friends don't, but I think it's pretty. Hey! You know you're really pretty too, but your hair is a funny color."
"Thank you." She smiles at him. It's soft and gentle and the child can't figure out why it reminds him of summer showers.
"Haha." He laughs. "You're welcome!"
"Would you like to see something really pretty?" She asks him, holding out a hand. "I can take you there."
For a moment it occurs to the child to refuse. She's a stranger, he doesn't know her, he shouldn't have gone this far with her. But then the thought raises that she so pretty, and nice, and she doesn't mind that he splashed her. So he takes her hand, because surely she's a good person, even if her hair is a funny color and her shoes are oddly dry.
She smiles back at him and turns, and so does the whole world. It's a blur of color and light, and when they stop they aren't in Tokyo anymore.
It's dark wherever they are, because it's night time here in this place. It's raining too, so there are no stars, there is no moon. But there are streetlights, and squares of illumination falling from nearby buildings. At a cafe nearby strings of lights are hung from canopys. They reflect off the wet streets and it's like a river of stars and lights on the ground.
"Wow!" The child disintangles his hand from hers and runs out into the streets, laughing as he resumes his game of jumping into puddles. "This is like magic!" He runs back to where the woman stands. "Hey, Onee-chan, is the magic? Are you a witch?"
"No."
"Eh? But..." The child looks around at the obviously foreing city.
"I am simply the rain. I go where it rains." She tells him.
"So, it's magic, right?" Because that's all he can understand. She shrugs, uncaring. The boy runs off to play again.
The woman watches him for a while. Once again standing in a puddle that can't seem to touch her. Then the rain begins to break off and it's time for her to go. Turning she vanishes once more, to Brazil this time.
Eventually the boy begins to get tired and returns to where he left the woman, with her wet hem and dry shoes. But she's already gone.
"Onee-chan!" He calls. The sound of water dripping off eaves is his only reply
---
The news in Tokyo for the next few days center of the abduction of a seven year old boy on a rainy day. Two weeks later the reports say he was found in Paris, full of stories of a woman who stood in puddles with dry shoes and could do magic.
No one quite knows what to think of it. But for the rest of his life, whenever it rained, the boy could be found outside, waiting, seemingly, for something.
When asked he always told them the same thing.
"I'm waiting for the rain."
Author's Note: I completely a totally lied when I said this one would be happier. Sorry! Still, it might be my favorite so far.
I forgot who the qoute was by.
Next features Yuuko and Watanuki, however my impending trip to japan means you won't be seeing it anytime soon most likely.
REVIEW OR I'LL EAT YOU! RAWRGH!