The fall from the heavens are a mighty rush, air pulling and tearing, bits and pieces of droplets sheering away as the gray mass tumbles to the ground. Water pellets shaped like tear drops spill from crying clouds, an exhilaration coursing through them as the world grows nearer.
The first few thousand are silent in descent. t is the spattering against earth that sends their cries back up to the sky, to the ears of the angels and clouds and stars and their brothers and sisters that fall along with them.
To bursts on hardtop or leaves or to blend into the ocean, ponds, rivers and lakes is their destiny—an accepted fate of a doomed creation. But, the screams … the screams of the befallen, their pained impact, rattles those still in descent, sending fear into unseen hearts, unnerving unknown bravado. Cries of ‘no, no, no’ echo among their number but there is no way to stop the free fall.
The world awaits, absorbs the pelting as each drop shatters on contact, soaking into the ground or mixing with dead rain pellets. Cold bodies on human skin, wiped away into nothingness. Oxygen uses their remains to form rust on metallic surfaces. Some of them cling to limbs and bars and bumpers, their lives almost over.
When the sun comes out the mourning begins. Steaming souls rise with hisses, their broken remains falling up instead of down, back to the heavens where another downpour will send them to another collision with an unforgiving world. Those left behind soak into dirt or evaporate off of leaves and other hard surfaces or are tamped down by towels, lives forever extinguished. And in the heavens the clouds and angels and stars all cry … and the rain falls again.
Listen closely to the roar of the rains, to the fear in their hearts as they tremble in flight and die in violence, some to rise again while others are forever gone, souls of the dead never to be remembered, banished from the heavens to the earth below.
Have you ever listened to the rain? Sure, you hear it when it strikes the ground or trees or the roof, but have you listened? When it storms, the rain sounds like a stampede. When it drizzles it’s the rat-a-tat of a drummer in a marching band. It’s not a splat or a plop. It’s louder. like a scream silenced suddenly. That’s what this story is: a scream silenced suddenly.
I wrote this one evening after sitting on the porch during a storm. I sat in the chair from beginning to end, from the first drop that hit the ground to the last one. It was an odd symphony of sounds, one I likened to screams and bodies breaking.
I hope you enjoyed Befallen, and please, like, share and comment. I appreciate it.