The Rain - Part 1
He hated the rain.
“Rains are good. Rains wash away everything – from dirt stains, to heart pains,” she said. And he smiled.
She had this knack of coming up with such gems every now and then.
One time she’d said, “I think there’s no free will. We always have a reason for everything we do, right?” He nodded a yes. “That means everything we do fulfills a definite purpose, right?” He nodded a yes, again. “If everything has a purpose, and everything we do is intended to fulfill that purpose, it implies that everything is pre-destined and free will has no part to play in it!”
Seven seconds later, he smiled and nodded.
The rain beat a staccato rhythm on the tin roof.
“Pitter-patter rain drops, pitter-patter rain drops…”
She hummed away to no one in particular. He was trying to concentrate on his book.
“Falling on the ground, lying on the floor…”
He turned a page and adjusted his glasses.
“Makes the place untidy, makes the place untidy…”
He stopped reading, and turned to her.
“I know. But don’t you love the effect?”
He smiled and went back to his book.
Why are rainy nights almost always dark?
The room was as dark as the night itself – which wasn’t saying much considering the fact that the power supply in the area had been interrupted. And they hadn’t still found the candles.
“Got ’em! Did you find the matches?”
“Yeah! Over here!”
“Phew! I must remember to keep these candles somewhere I can find them. Wouldn’t want to gothrough all this again the next time this happens!”
“Don’t worry, it won’t!” He gingerly climbed down the stairs, one step at a time. “I just called the power company and they said this was a rare occurence. One of those once-in-a-lifetime kinds.” His eyes had adjusted themselves to the dark by now. “They also assured me that this wasn’t likely to happen again!” He could make out her silhouette in the dark. “Here you go – the matches!” She looked beautiful.
“Come on baby, light my fire!” She giggled and struck the match.
There’s something magical about a pitch-dark night.
Firstly, when the lights go out, all the sounds of the world seem to go out with them. Everything seems to go perfectly quiet, and you suddenly begin to hear sounds you never believed, existed. As an added bonus, time seems to slow down, too.
And you begin to see, hear, sense, and perceive everything to the smallest of detail – like the lighting of a match.
First, the spark – when the head makes contact with the abrasive surface. Then, a tiny ball of fire accompanied by a sound that could only be described as pure, controlled aggression. And finally, the flame – undulating with every tiny movement of air that feeded its existence.
He always believed that the match-stick was the greatest invention known to humankind. It captured humankind’s greatest discovery – fire – and allowed it to be used at will.
Just as it had done now.
She began lighting the candles, one by one. Each candle that was lit revealed a little more of her radiant smile. And with each candle that was lit, he fell a little more in love, until –
“Don’t light that last one!” he said.
“Why?”
“Save it for later,” he said simply.
“Good idea!” She said and she turned to put the last candle away.
If she’d lit that last candle…
He sighed and looked out the window. It was still pitch-dark.
To Be Concluded.