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Writing > Users > 'Chelle > 2009

Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction


The following is a piece of writing submitted by 'Chelle on November 16, 2009
"This was an excercise is free writing - i just wrote, and it went along. Towards the end it evolved into something more than simple rain and sun and became an analogy."

Sunlight

Icy needles slash against my windshield, trying, in their fury, to drown out the slish-caslosh slish-caslosh of my frantic windshield wipers. It is noon, but the sky is bleak gray, and it feels like night is settling in to stay. The road has become a river, and my hands have frozen into claws from my white-knuckled grasp on the steering wheel. I turn the radio off, unable to bear the chipper voice of the DJ 3,000 miles away in sunny California. I can't concentrate on the differentiating the road from the ditch from the river from the sky with her voice filling the car.

I round yet another bend in the road, and suddenly find myself lurching sideways, pushed by the force of the driving wind, and the waterfall of water that seems to be flowing from a sky that has been storing up water for millenia. I pull over, four-ways flashing, and sit, gazing at the backside of the cataract. I feel like I am on one of those tourist boats that takes you behind Niagra Falls.

I open my window a crack, just to hear the roar and feel the wetness. It pours in, soaking my arm and the left leg of my jeans. I know I should roll it up, but i don't want to. I stick my nose towards the opening, like a dog, trying to soak it in. I toy with the thought of getting out, of letting the downpour soak me, in an instant, to the skin. I can already imagine the feeling of the rain pouring off my nose, and over my eyes, my hair and clothes clinging. The rational side of my brain talks me out of it - you'll get the car wet. How will you explain your appearance when you get home? Grudgingly, I roll up the windows and wait out the worst of it in the damp stuffiness of my car.

When my windshield wipers can keep up again, I shift into gear and slowly pull back out onto the road, the whoosh of water asI pull through the standing water rising almost to my window. I feel small and cold and alone. I feel sad, like the rain is all the tears I have ever wanted to cry and couldn't, like the weight of all the world's sorrows are pouring down and flowing over and around me as I travel alone on a dark and winding road.

The sun, once so certain and true, seems like a dream, like a future I dare not hope for any longer. Perhaps it is real. Perhaps I can believe. But what if it's too good to be true? What if this dark and cold sorrowful rain is all Ican expect from life?

I have slowed to a crawl, my lights barely showing the way through the wall of water. The rain is my only reality, but I decide, nonetheless, to believe in the sun. To believe that hope and light and joy will return to the world. This moment is dark, but it's only 12:15. We will have many more hours of sunlight. I can feel it in my bones.

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