He huddles under his tiny umbrella, a nasty plastic mushroom. Rain drums above his head and streams trickle beneath his shoes. A heavy mist clambers up the hill and engulfs him. The sun still shines brightly, but he can't see it; the clouds, large heavy pillows, cushion him from it.

This is the highlight of his day, which had not been a good one. Everything had gone wrong, and he had expected it to. He had known that he did not have any of his homework, that he did not study for his quiz, that he had been rude to everyone all day. But now, he could make everything better.

He tosses aside the dripping umbrella, revolted by it. The rain slams down into his large smile, pounding it wider. Instinctively, he tilts his head back. Feeling the rain massage his forehead, he plops down in the soggy grass. The grass underneath him is soft, lush and green. He lays back and pushes his legs forwards. Soaking wet, his shirt hugs his back and he whistles with excitement.

He recalls recess when it was raining just like this. The students were barred in classrooms, not permitted to enjoy the weather. He had stuffed himself into a corner of the classroom and plastered his face to the window, desiring what he could not have. Ignoring anyone who attempted to communicate, he stared awestruck at the rain.

He gradually stands up and wobbles around on the grass. Wet and heavy, his hair hangs down in front of his eyes. He can't stand being cooped inside all day, but it didn't matter when it was a desert outside. He hates the sun passionately. He sighs, tears disguised by the rain. Why can't it rain like this more often?