Nova
Nova short story stories
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alyvea
alyvea I am not a spokesman I'm a broken record
Autoplay OFF   •   2 months ago
Seeing if my prose does as well as my poetry. Like or comment if you want a part two!

Nova

Rain. The word tastes foreign on my lips as I speak it. Rain. When someone first made the suggestion to me that it was possible for water to fall from the sky, I laughed outright at them. Water falling from the sky? It seemed absurd.

To me, water is something that flows timidly in small streams the size of my littlest finger, something to be stored jealousy away in the bodies of plants. Water is definitely not something that falls from the sky as though it could be wasted.

But, here I am, in the rain. Water is everywhere, on a scope and magnitude that I am still struggling to comprehend . I tilt my head back and smile at the sky. Fat gray clouds hang sluggishly above, pouring out this bounty onto the earth. I am used to seeing white, wispy clouds that go easily wherever the wind takes them on a whim. These great, obese puffballs are new to me, but I like them. They make it seem like heaven is a little closer to earth.

I am used to seeing white, wispy clouds that go easily wherever the wind takes them on a whim. These great, obese puffballs are new to me, but I like them. They make it seem like heaven is a little closer to earth.

Water runs in glorious rivulets down my face and neck. My long, sun-bleached hair hangs in heavy ropes to my waist. When I open my mouth, waters slips in. It tastes sweet. Sweet and clean, making all the other water I have drank seem like mud. I have never felt so clean before in my life either. Washing in more than a few handfuls of warm, dusty water was a luxury I never could afford before now.

This rain. All this rain has brought me so much joy and prosperity, making sure I will never thirst or be dirty again. But it has also brought me more pain and suffering than it will ever, ever be worth. Suddenly, my good mood is gone, replaced by chest-crushing grief.

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