A Story About Rain

Decisions often get the better of me and I find myself often making the unfavourable ones. My mind reminded me of this fact as I briskly walked into the cold with nothing but an unbuttonable blazer and the unflinching promise of heavy rain. Somehow my conscious has a way of affirming itself, despite my obvious consistent trail of poor decisions. The downpour was right on cue, taking its time to taunt my blazer with a hint of a drizzle for a while. After some time when the rain was satisfied that my blazer was wet and totally defenceless, it pursued its offence through a more adamant pour.

At this point with no umbrella, a poor excuse for a coat, and a persistent attitude of accepting whatever comes my way I was resigned to my fate. The rain worked its way through me meticulously with the apprehensive nature of a surgeon. It pushed on, slowly breaking more defences which, we all call clothes until I could feel the cold and moisture in my soul. My hair, receiving the downpour from above, made a fountain and the trickles formed a mesh on my face drilling down to my chest and back. At this point, my body and mind had already called a stalemate but the rain was far from done, and with no promising shelter nearby I walked on burying my wetness with thoughts.

I remembered the promises my younger self made years ago; no car, no asset to my name, just an overbearing financial loan and a careless spending nature which were haunting ghosts of dead assertions and promises now. The failure of my promises was too clear. I stepped into a puddle and a more serious overtone was undertaken by my mind as all sorts of melodies of disaster spewed carelessly across my brain, melodies that could cause a malady. I had failed, and my mind and the rain knew it. Maybe it was a punishment and the rain was the rod of my correction… sent to remind me in flood and lonely cold that I had failed.

Carelessly my mind threw me to a time when I was happier. Far from the daily routine I had adopted day in day out, supplemented by a meagre depressing salary, for the past ten years, my mind wandered to a time it felt safer. I remembered Fiona, the love of my life, as soon as I met her. I remembered the lie that we lived, oblivious to the rain of negativity that we thought was but just a mystery which we could live without, which we could avoid. Then I remembered finding her, on top of our marital bed, with another man. She looked at me and I saw guilt and defiance while she saw, in my eyes, the dawning realization that our union was broken beyond repair.

It made me feel less of man, and so the bottle intervened to make me more of a man. And with it began a deluge of bad decisions, a flood of poor choices and I was drenched in them. The rain intensified, hitting my skull relentlessly as if trying to remind me of the twilight girls. Yes, the twilight girls, pleasant to the eyes at night. There was this one called Maria. A slender prospect to say the least and eye candy for any drunken stupor. As we lay body to body, meat to meat, she realized that my manhood was already, too soon spent, a mere two minutes spent in pleasure town was her reward. Fueled by disappointment, she retreated into anger. Amused I told her that sometimes a flood comes too fast against our expectations. Whatโ€™s best is to handle and enjoy the deluge while it lasts.

Decisions sometimes seem like they always get the better of me. I should have taken a taxi, walking was a bad idea. My vision was getting blurry from all the wetness from the rain and all the madness in my brain. As I crossed the sidewalk, my mind warned of a watery grave as a car sped past followed by another one which instead swept me off my feet, like a flood. On the side I lay, drenched from the persistent rain above but made warm by the warm deluge now bleeding, finding its way out. A man was beside me, presumably the owner of the car, shouting for help while asking me why I made the choice to cross at such a bad intersection. I wish I could speak, maybe I could tell him that decisions seem to always get the better of me.


13 thoughts on “A Story About Rain

  1. Great work franko…..you are such a talented writer, one that I would wish to see grow and glow even in the international platform……. you are a legend of our times.


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