What I see
A boy in the rain with an umbrella
What I feel
A feeling of sadness and solitude
My story
Something about the rain always seemed to draw me in. It felt like a soul whisperer was drawing the life essence from deep within me and calling my tainted soul out to its own blissful abyss.
I hated anything wet and cold and I wondered how I could still be fascinated by the rain.
I took out my mother's old black umbrella from the kitchen and stepped into the cold, wet street. My brown boots were welcomed with open arms by the rain puddles on the road. My coat was getting kissed by the heavy droplets of rain that had rolled of the umbrella and decided to sought liberation elsewhere.
I walked briskly to the car parked in front of Mrs. Betsy's shop and stood there.
All the bad thoughts I had a few minutes ago were washed away by the pitter patter sound of the rain hitting my umbrella.
I couldn't tell how long I stood there under the rain. But I was sure the neighbors were starting to look out their windows wondering what a fifteen years old boy was doing out in the rain. I on the other hand couldn't care less.
