The Rain in his Skin

Entry for Flash Fiction Competition for February 2011


He is standing there as he always is, beneath the lamppost which casts him an autumnal glow left behind by the winter winds sweeping the town at this time of the year. A little bit of sun under the cover of darkness painted with stars, he thinks. He remains unmovable, always staring at the figure on the other side of the opaque window. The warmth teases him to leave the frigid exterior and enter the comforting haven in which his loved one resides. The soft colors of the sunset streams from the window and ignites sparks of life from the frozen and dormant flowers of her front yard. The dancing colors are like a mirage for the insects and bugs to wake from their winter slumber.

A swift midnight breeze caresses his cheeks, alluring him into walking down the sidewalk and away from the sight that causes him to plunge into feelings of tenderness and impotence. His bare hands dig deep in his trench coat pockets as he snuffs his neck into the high collar of his jacket. The wind prickles him ever so slightly, carrying stories from around the globe for him to enjoy silently. The wind is restless on his outside world, sometimes uncaring and scathing, it is not the case in her world. The air remains still and motionless around her, preserving the soft fragrance that surrounds her forevermore. Her wind only flirts with her when she strolls down the beaches, her hair dancing harmoniously with the wind.

The mist becomes denser, dampening his jacket and his cheap jeans, and most importantly, clouding his eyes from her. He looks up at the sky, now a darker shade than it had been minutes ago; he sees swirls of mist encircle the bright orb and shrouding its light with a foggy mantle. Thick sheets of clouds cruise the nighttime sky and gives the world a solemn look. The atmosphere around him changes slightly, but he feels the minute change, after all, he has been standing in the same spot for many years. To appreciate nature around oneself, one must learn to differentiate between your own personal environments from the rest. That, he learned from her.

He sees her smile and laugh, unaffected by his silent feelings toward her. His lips curl up in a sly smile, which then turns into a grimace, finally settling back to his serious look. He lets out a sigh, which contrast with the cold air surrounding him, and then rises to the sky. For the first time, he wishes the wind could carry her melodious and symphonic laughter to his ears as it had done many times ago, but the melody never came.

The sky above breaks in peace as his heart sobs. He didn’t know which hit the pavement first: the raindrop or his tear. The soft drizzle that falls on him comforts him with promises of a brighter morning. The crystal-pure raindrops trickle down his skin, washing away the weariness in him. His tears, holding unspoken words, stream down his face and mingle themselves with the raindrops. The cold rain drenches him completely as a hazy orange color surrounds him. He steps away from the lamppost and into the shadow, his hands gently closing around a precious object in his pocket. He has waited for nearly a year, he can wait another day. The rain comes down heavily now, moving ceremoniously with the blowing wind. It stings his face as if forcing him to wake up from his reverie and try harder for after every rainstorm there is a rainbow of hope.

He will never forget this night in which his affections become one with nature.

The End

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