Creative Creative Writing

Too Short Rain // By Kylie Grant

Drip drip drop, drip drip drop.

I hear it over and over again as it soothes me in and out of sleep. I start to dose and I snap back. I open the window so I could listen to it fall. It looks like millions of glittering diamonds falling from the sky. The air smells sweet and calm like the whole world is holding its breath to hear the sound of the rainfall and to taste the sweetness in the air.

I reach out my hand and a raindrop lands in my open palm. It looks like a fresh teardrop crawling down my arm. It feels cold against my skin, but I want to protect it. I close my hand around it and I turn it upside down. I release it and watch it fall to the ground, speeding as if trying to get there quicker than all the other raindrops, like a kid in a marathon. It nears the ground, stopping when it meets its finish line of the puddle by my feet. I look into the clouds and saw colors of shining diamonds. I slowly close my eyes and listen to the pitter-patter of the rain falling.

Drip drip drop drip drip drop drip drip drop . . . drip drip . . . but there is no drop. It is over.

 

By Kylie Grant

Photo Credit: Pixdaus

 

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