She is what Spring looks like.

A boy comes across Spring on the most dreary of days.

And it's still raining, as it has been, non-stop for the last three weeks.

He pauses at the crosswalk, stopping a couple feet from a puddle that is continuously being disrupted by the vehicular traffic in front of him. His gray hood is pulled up to effectively shield the rain from tumbling down his leather jacket and his hands are stuffed into his jean pockets, clenching to generate a pin-prick of heat. He blows tiny clouds of steam from between his lips as he waits for the signal to cross, taking notice that someone has joined him in the rain. 

He can't remember what springs looks like, but if he had to guess, it would be her.

Dressed in a powder blue raincoat and matching galoshes, she hums a soft, bright tune. Her pale hands grip a floral handbag that she swings against her thigh. Her other hand twirls a neon yellow umbrella between her pastel painted fingers and thumb. He stares, stunned as he realizes that she has pale pink, choppy hair that escapes the hood of her raincoat, framing her face and highlighting her earthy eyes.

She notices his staring and smiles lightly in greeting, lifting her tiny, rose bud lips fleetingly.

His heart lurches against his rib cage and he abruptly turns away, feeling ashamed. He can feel his face burning up from staring at the mystical creature beside him. He almost misses the signal to walk when he catches flashes of her light blue boots splashing through the street.

Practically jogging to make it across before the cars crush him, he gathers the courage to peek at the spring being he had just witnessed. her light steps bounce her yellow umbrella as she merges into the street crowds. He watches the beacon bob until it disappears among the other umbrellas, diminishing under the dreary sheets of rain and dark ponchos.

A raindrop manages to slither down his throat and creep into the collar of his shirt. He shivers, turning away from the girl again, and clutches at his collar to deflect any other clever raindrops. He trudges on into a street crowd, disappearing without the same ambiance of a beacon of hope.

The End

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