I had decided to walk under the rain.

My clothes all soaked, my newspaper bag saturated to the inside, my reading materials drenched and wrinkling with rainwater. But I had decided to walk under the rain.

I know when I reach home, I'd undress and wring the rainwater out my clothes. I'd dry my clothes, my bag, my reading materials, I'd wipe myself dry. But I had decided to walk under the rain.

I know that rat piss would infect the scratches and bruises on the soles of my feet and grant me a horrible disease. But I had decided to walk under the rain.

I walked the street in our village towards our house, two blocks away. The wind was cool and the rain droplets darted on my sunburnt skin like melted ice pellets. Because I had decided to walk under the rain.

Rain showered on my nest of unruly brown hair. Raindrops pelted on my face, on my mouth, on my arms, on my feet. Raindrops trickled down cheeks, tracing my neck, down the cleavage between my breasts, down my arms, freely flowing through my clothes, down my feet. All my salty sweat washed along with it, mingling with the inch-flood rainwater streaming sideways on the abandoned cemented street. I opened my mouth and let the rain wet my tongue, wet the corner of my eyes and blur my eyesight. Because I had decided to walk under the rain.

The expanse of the sky united into one color of gunpower gray. The trees' leaves were greener and cleaner, their barks browner and more vibrant in color. Plastic bottles, junkfood foil packs, cigarette butts, motley-colored trash sailed like tiny boats down the drainage canals. Droplets hung momentarily on the tightropes of electricity cables, and released in globed waters splashing on the ground. Everything was quiet, except for nature's music of rainwater racing like an army of pins down the earth. Every house was bathing in the rain, seemingly empty. Everything was motionless and still, except for the rain and the lone girl who walked down the street encapsulated in its perpetual serenity. Because I had decided to walk under the rain.

My gallbladder was about to explode but our house was seemingly an eternity away from that moment. That moment when I had decided to walk under the rain.

I am an ignominious, wild animal, and I piss down that street in my pants. My piss doused my panties, the inner sides of my jeans, warmly wetting my legs, my feet. Because I had decided to walk under the rain.

There's nothing like freedom to piss in your clothes under the rain in an empty street, where everyone has fled, afraid of the rain, afraid to get wet, afraid to free themselves from wringing and hanging their clothes dry. Because I am free to walk under the rain.

Word did you say?

« Hermes and Aphrodite | Window-rattling Monster Movie »