Helmut Todstern
Active Member
What Does Rain Feel Like
I stare outside my window, as the sky pours water on the earth beneath my vision. There is something about the rain that I love. Its sound. Its appearance. The way the rain seems to appear out of nowhere and break up everyone's plans during the summer months. It is a mysteriously calm experience to watch the sky cry, to see the Creator's plumbing failing such spectacularly time and time again. I wonder to myself how many plumbers there are in the afterlife.
Another day, another rainstorm. I lie on my bed, eyes closed, as water pounds on the hollow roof of my parents' cottage. Thunder cracks above, and I imagine that the Creator has farted on his omnipresent toilet, and I dryly chuckle. I also wonder when the roof drum will stop its banging away. I want to sleep.
Damned rain. I want to punch a hole through the roof, as the next day's rainfall continues to disturb my sleep. This anti-Hypnos in the sky, looking at my dream state and laughing at my restlessness; Curse him. I turn my head towards the softness of the bed and sigh. How does one worship the god of sleep?
The last day of raining, the beginning of the cold. I look out at my lawn, as the sun sets in the horizon and the rainclouds above me stay unbroken. The future holds snow and hail in its grip, preparing to shift from abusing my ears to assailing my body with the snapping chill of some anti-Hephaestus. At least, I think, as I crawl over to the bed and become enveloped in blankets, I will be able to sleep.
It is five in the morning, and I cannot sleep. I miss the rain.