Rain of Truth

By: blackwidow10

A/N: I was thinking about entering this story in a short story contest, so feedback would be VERY much appreciated.

I've always loved the feel of the warm tropical rain. I could stand under these crying gray clouds for hours, washing my cares away in these simple drops of water. When I stand here, I can't hear what people say, I don't have to care what they think, or pretend that I do because I'd be risking losing something if I didn't. I can dream all I want to, because no one is around to laugh at my hopes for the future and tell me that I'll never be what I want to be. It is my freedom, this rain. In this spot, I can do anything.

That girl over there doesn't seem to enjoy it like I do, though.

She is drenched to the bone, as if she's been out here for days instead of hours, like me; but it's that sort of drenching, that look of being completely weighed down by water like you're drowning in the deepest ocean that makes me think that this girl will never be dry again. For her, the water has seeped into her very pores, dragging her down but forcing her on, an all-consuming power that refuses to give up, because it is so strong that it doesn't have to. It keeps pressing on her, into her, until the drops are forced out again through her eyes in the form of salty tears that are washed away by the rain as soon as they appear.

And I'm not sure that I'm talking about the rain anymore.

For that matter, I'm not sure I'm even talking about her anymore. I've given so much detail to her situation, one that I know nothing about, that I'm really not talking about that girl anymore. Maybe it's just that she reminds me of how I used to be.

I didn't used to have such a high opinion of the rain. It wasn't a joy for me as it is now; it was an escape, like it must be for her. An escape from that all-consuming power that has nothing to do with falling water, but which has everything to do with a life that seems too hard, too terrible, to lead any longer. I remember it all too well: the all-too true teasing, the cold, lonely feeling of defeat, the tears. Oh, the tears. I must have cried so many times, and I hate to admit it now that I see how foolish I was, how ridiculous I must have felt back when I let them get to me.

Is that what she goes through? Does she feel like that? Does she hide behind her books that tell her of far away places where everything goes right in the end, or fill her head with knowledge so it makes her feel better to know that all that time she spends studying is just because she doesn't have anyone to hang out with, no friends at all? I wonder what they say to her when they see her. I imagine that they laugh at her, though I can't see why. She doesn't seem to be all that bad-looking, but then again, I can't see her face. And I know all to well that "inner beauty" is completely overlooked if no one can see past your face and your body.

But I'm past all that. And even if I'm not, even if I'm just telling myself that I am, at least I know how to deal with it now. I learned how to force myself to be strong, to not hear what they're saying, because they're too close-minded to see past they're own foolish understandings. I ignore them, and slap them with a snappy retort if I feel that they just aren't getting it.

Maybe I should teach her.

If she knew how to do it, how to defend herself, maybe she wouldn't look so sad. Maybe she would stop feeling sorry for herself and standing out in the rain until she catches cold. I know that it worked for me.

I should make up a lesson plan.

I'd teach her how to disregard their words, to ignore them until they give up, and how to close her eyes and think of rain if what they say hits a little too close to home. That really is the key to this whole thing. The rain. If I believed in God, I would think that He specifically made the rain to cleanse people, to make them forget those everyday little things that hurt more than we'd like to admit. I've heard people of faith say that it rains when God is sad, and the drops are his tears, and if I were inclined to, I would believe it.

I wonder if she believes in Him. If she does, I may have a problem teaching her, since it's hard for anyone who knows what I do to believe that there is someone out there making all these things happen. It's too hard to lock your feelings away like I do and, at the same time, have faith in something you can't see, that you can't understand.

But when did I get on the topic of religion? This is about her, and me, and all the people in the world who have gone through what we went through, what we feel. It's strange that I feel such a strong connection to this girl, considering that I don't even know her. I can't explain it. And that sort of scares me.

I have a fear of things that I can't explain or find some way to understand. There's probably some long word for it that ends in –ophobia, but I haven't the faintest idea what it is. I'll probably go look it up later, since I know it will keep bugging me until I do. Does she think things like that, just random thoughts that pop into her head? I hope so. It will help with what I need to teach her. And I've already made up my mind that I'm going to: she looks as if she desperately needs it.

The rain is slowing to a steady drizzle now, soon to be over, and it's taking with it that empowering sense of freedom I feel when I'm standing under the pouring clouds. Don't get me wrong, I still have that strength I equipped myself with. I would just feel better if it rained all the time.

I think I should probably go talk to her now, before the rain stops completely. I hope she will listen to what I have to say, because I have so many things that I could teach her. She'll learn how to have that strength, she'll learn what it feels like to be free, she'll be unmovable when it feels like the whole world wants to change her, and, most importantly, she'll understand why I love the rain so much: because when that water is pouring over you, you can't hear what they have to say, they won't be able to bring you down, and they'll never, ever, be able to tell you that your dreams can't come true.