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The Rain

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I sit by the window, watching the rain pound its fists mercilessly against the glass. I press my hand to it, allow the condensation to gather underneath my fingertips, and then let it drop to my side. It’s been months since we had rain, and the dead bunches of grass reach their arms to the sky and drink it in, never shying back no matter how hard the rain pounds on it.
I see my reflection in the glass, and I am almost shocked by the girl that stares back at me. Her eyes are empty, devoid of all emotion, with long sleeves pulled down over the heels of her hands. And she is so small. The sweater hangs off her shoulders and her baggy jeans are held up at the waist with a belt in the last notch. Her cheeks are sunken in, hollow, highlighted by a ring of purple under her left eye. I stare out at the rain until a set of headlights round the corner, scarier to me than the devil himself’s eyes. The truck is swerving on the drive, and he is going far too fast before it jerks to a halt just before the garage. My blood drips icy cold in my veins, numbs my fingertips.
“Kassidi?!” I hear his voice before he is even in the house, the truck door slamming just a little too hard. I run. I run out the back door and over the porch steps in my thin sweater and I don’t stop. I feel the rain on my back, soaking through my clothes but I run run run until I fall to my knees. My shirt is sticking to my skin, holding me down. I roll up the sleeves, let the rain run down my arms, spotted in patches of purple, blue and yellow. The rain pounds on my face, in my hair, dark and dripping wet. I lay back on the grass and let the rain run over me, I revel in it, marvel in the moment. I am breathing. My chest rises and falls in between choking, broken sobs I’ve held in for too long. I let out a scream, until my lungs ache from the effort and another until I can’t, until I am exhausted. I am alive. I am alive alive alive, and the rain sings me to sleep.



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