Goddess of the Raindrops
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The windshield wipers throbbed out a steady rhythm, mocking the random scattering of their victims. A pale finger traced the path of a raindrop as it meandered its way down the window.
“It’s hard to believe,” the thin-lipped mouth said, “That something so tiny can accomplish something so great.”
“What’s that, little lady?” Her sepia haired companion spoke quietly, but kindly, not lifting his eyes from the rain-veiled road. His voice was one of a person who had traveled far and seen the best and worst life had to offer. She liked it very much.
“Giving life, of course. Every raindrop that falls will someday lead to the birth of new life. And someday that new life will bring on new life of its own, too. You and I are alive today because of a raindrop.” She said reverently, her storm-cloud eyes gazing off somewhere beyond the window. The little girl, if she could truly be called that, bathed as she was in the diffused light squirming through the clouds, seemed almost more than human. The man wondered why he had hesitated before picking her up from the side of the lonely street, left so many miles behind them in the slums of the little village.
“A raindrop, little lady?” He asked, and though she could not see it, a smile glittered in his emerald eyes.
“Of course!” She replied, “A raindrop. Every raindrop is separate, and when they gather they are still themselves. They just… Work together. A person can drink hundreds of raindrops to quench his thirst, but only one drop is needed to push him over the edge to where he is no longer thirsty. How else would you quench your thirst?” She giggled faintly, and the pure sound reminded him of church bells.
He smiled, this time the joy reaching his lips, and the corners of his mouth lifted lightly upwards.
“Ah, I see.” Was all he said before slipping back into silence. But it was not an uncomfortable silence, and the gentle pulsing of the rain and the rhythmic swoosh swoosh of the relentless wipers mingled with the rain’s soft scent of age, must, and ancient knowledge, and it seemed for a long moment that the empty road, the wipers, the rain, and the must were all that existed.
The middle-aged man smiled softly, not a broad grin or the laughter that would cheapen his joy, but simply a soft, gentle smile of the true contentment so often excluded from the lives of people. He felt his heart turn to warm butter, not entirely melted, yet not completely solid, and knew instinctively that, as it sank deeper into his chest, that this was where his heart was always meant to rest. Pale lips parted as he sighed in true happiness for the first time in many years.
In the back seat, the little rain goddess just smiled a small, bittersweet smile and looked out at the rain.
As the clouds began to part and the silvery raindrops started to falter, her gray eyes twinkled gently and she vanished with the magical droplets.
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Thanks for reading! I know that this was a little oddly written, but I'm pretty happy with it. All critiques and compliments welcomed with open arms.
-Aurah
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