Rain. Why does it have to rain? It wasn't when I left for school; but somewhere along the way, the light morning fog had transformed into a heavy downpour. I don't have an umbrella either; I am going to get very, very wet. Lovely. Great. Perfect. I'll plop down first period, squishing and squelching. Oh lord, I'll probably smell too. I hate Mondays. I really do; in fact, I hate every day I have to go to school. Every day, except for Saturdays and Sundays, I'm forced to walk this same path. Thank god it's my last year. Then I'll graduate. I'll go to University, or even better, get a job; one that doesn't include flipping burgers, I mean.
I remember when I was younger. I used to love rainy days like this. I would just sit by the windows and watch. My mom used to tell me that the rain was really God's tears. I would always wonder why God was so sad. I would always ask. But mother would just stroke my head, which was still covered in hair a golden blonde colour, and smile. She told me that they were tears of happiness. I guess I must have believed her; it wasn't like I was a sadistic child. I wouldn't have loved rain so much if they had been tears of pain or depression.
I'm jealous of all those people riding around in cars. I wish I had a car. I wish I had somewhere to drive to, other than school. I've always wondered why most guys are so into mechanics, and things of that sort. I never really was. I always saw cars as a form on transportation, but I know some people who truly have an obsession. I never really liked those kinds of people. They struck me as weird. I guess they may think I'm sort of weird too; really, a guy why doesn't like cars. Or sports. Or music. Or, well, anything for that matter. I don't really have any specific interests. There will always be people known as 'that guitar dude' or 'the artistic girl' or 'the basketball kid.' Nothing has other really seemed special to me; I don't have any talents. I'm an average student. I look average; green eyes and dishwater blond hair. Not too special. They're not even those 'sparkling green emerald eyes' that I always read about in books or see in movies. They're actually more of a hazel. I'm not tall or short, not fat or skinny. I'm just average; there isn't really much to me.
I remember snow: I used to really, really love snow. More than the rain even. I actually still love snow. Although I haven't seen is since I was thirteen; almost five years ago. Even though it's December all we ever get is rain. Everything is wet and soggy. December used to be almost magical; especially when I was really young. It was white and crisp and pure. The feeling of stamping my boot into an untouched field of white was sorcery, I swear. That was when I was innocent, and young. I was untouched by the state of the current world. I never knew things were getting so bad; it's just getting worse. All that's every on the news anymore is war updates and footage. Now I guess I'm a bit like a bitter old man. That's right, just call me Grandpa Nolen.
I really don't feel like going to school today; I have a math test. It's not like I studied – and it's not like I understand any of the concepts either. I'm thinking about skipping, although I'm going to have to do the stupid thing eventually. Might as well get it over and done with, right? I don't understand why people care; you go to school, get a job, have some kids and die. And that's life; an endless cycle. I mean, I'm not going to go drop out or anything; I'll agree that people that do that are idiots. It's just not worth the effort of caring too much.
I'm still about five minutes away from school. I've barely been paying attention during the entire walk from my house to that cursed building. I could walk there with my eyes closed, if I wanted to. I've taken this path every day for three and a half years. The streets, the people, the roads and trees are the same. Every pebble and rock and dent in the road is nothing new. It's all so redundant, and useless. I stopped caring about almost everything a while back; now, I'm just going through the motions. I know life is pointless; I'm not one of those depressive kids though. I'm not going to go out and hang myself. I mean, I believe after life that there is nothing. And something is better than nothing, even if it is meaningless. I used to believe in heaven and God, and all that sort of stuff. Then after all war and conflict, I just lost faith. No God would allow all this to happen. Or at least no God I want to believe in.
I observed a bolt of lightning, whipping the ground somewhere far away. As if it was abusing our earth for some sort of wrongdoing. I heard a slight whimper – it was quite muffled, actually, and it may have meant to be a scream. Or perhaps whoever the noise came from couldn't bring themselves to shout at full volume, and interrupt the stony cold silence that filled the street. I looked around; there isn't anyone. Maybe I'm beginning to hear things. I haven't been to a doctor in years – there has to be something wrong with me. But, no; I hear another whimper. This one a bit louder than the last, and it is certainly a whimper, and not a scream. It's probably a cat or something, left out in the rain by its owner. I should really keep going; I don't really want to be late.
I feel something tug downwards on my jacket. I glance to my left and see a child; a little girl, surely no older than seven or eight. She has a sheepish look on her face, which looks frail and sickly. The child looks a bit like a doll; fragile. If I touch her, I'm afraid she'll break. I can barely see her face; it's covered in dirt and mud, and who knows what else. She coughs, stumbles forward, and grips harder on my jacket.
"What do you want kid? I don't have time for you." I say.
"The military. Keep me away from them." She says, faltering. Her voice is childlike, yet seems far away and distant. She looks upwards at me, eyes barely open.
"Wait a second? What are you talking about?" I question.
Before she can even offer an answer, she falls to the ground. I stand there, unknowing what to do; bewildered, and confused. Tears continue to tumble from the sky, beating down on the girls' small body. I really hate Mondays. And I really hate the rain.