A Rose in a Garden of Puddles
By Jack Anderson
The rain, what a lovely weather, the way it turns the sky grey or how it feels on your face almost like tears. I almost feel like a drop of rain: alone, insignificant, empty, only a fraction of my former self. The rain is the only thing I can relate to. But I never used to be like this. I used to see life as a gift, a blessing. But now I see it as a curse, a leaf in the wind. Ever since my parents died in that car crash my life has been an endless loop of pain and blame.
A year ago on my 18th birthday. My parents were driving down to come visit me. I lived a happy life, I had graduated college with great grades, I had a place to call my own and a stable job. My parents were proud of me. I had then received a call from the police telling me that both my parents had just died due to a head on collision. No one survived. The officer was still talking but I was not listening, I just stood there, motionless, like a gravestone. Ever since then I quit my job, stopped talking to family and friends and stopped leaving my flat.
The only thing I could trust was the rain. I started visiting my parents grave but only if it was raining. I felt welcome by the rain.
But this time something stood out from the grey clouds and gravestones. A woman wearing a red raincoat was standing in front of a grave. She glanced in my direction, our eyes met, in response, I quickly averted my eyes away. A few seconds after, she pulled a black umbrella out of her handbag and walked away. Who was she? I kept asking myself. Afterwards, I headed home as the rain clouds were lifting. I awaited the next day of rain with a sense of necessity. Like a drug addict needs his fix, I needed the rain to soothe my pain.