Thirst clawed at Shela’s throat as she walked the crop fields, rot clinging to the air. Her daughter, Kiera, clutched her hand and pinched her nose. Stormclouds gathered overhead, their obsidian depths laced with lightning.
Kiera’s grip tightened. “Mommy, is it going to rain?”
The elders predicted a starstorm–maybe rain, with luck.
The sky split open, and instead of water, glistening stardust fell, scattered by the wind, coating all with an ethereal sheen.
Shela forced down the lump in her throat and smiled, sprinkling a fistful over her astonished little girl’s head.
So many dauntingly strong submissions. Great prompt, Miguel.
Raining Tears (90mg)
“Are you coming?”
She asked, knowing what he’d say if he could be bothered to look up from the console he was hooked on, if he would push aside the headset to even acknowledge her question.
She persisted, pushing for the answer she expected. “We could explore before dinner, check out the waterfall?”.
She stepped into his eyeline, brazenly interrupting his fantasy quest.
“Maybe later”, he muttered, with a hurtfully dismissive gesture thrown in for free, an unwanted honeymoon gift. “Anyway, it’s raining, judging by the wetness on your cheeks”.
Sure, gaze down from your sixth story office window, observe the puddles shimmering on the pavements, wonder at the liquid dripping from the open doors of the double decker bus. You can detach yourself so easily from up there.
Believe the lie they spun about it being an anomaly.
Me? I’m sheltering in the doorway of Val’s Diner. Thank god for the awning. That burger in my hand? I’ve no appetite for flesh now.
The rain corroded their skins. Acid burned them alive. Slowly.
She said she preferred the rain. It was the only time she went for long walks. She’d come home soaked and dripping and I was always there with a warm towel. I’d give it a spin in the dryer first. I don’t think she knew. How much I loved seeing her in the doorway, needing me. Now she won’t talk to me. Doesn’t return my calls or respond to my texts. I stopped sending money for her birthday. The last thing she said to me was, "I hate you Mom."
For some people, the dour downpour drenches the soul like a cold, callous curtain of sadness and forlorn. People like that have never had to look up to face them storm.
Others see the sky's tears as life reaching upward to recharge itself as the cycle churns ever forward. They've never looked down to see the water and blood mixing together.
But me? The rain reminds me of the moment I first truly saw you, all the shadows and scars you wanted to hide from the world suddenly laid bare.
We prayed for rain for so long, even our immortal souls became parched, our spirits sorely chapped. Hopelessness desiccated our ambitions. Shame crusted over, flaking away our will to survive into the dry, ill wind that was our life. But we had faith. We kept praying for a miracle. Our prayers were answered when the Miracle Man came, offering us rain—for a price we readily paid. We waited. The Miracle Man was far away by the time the rain finally began to fall, years later. It was a miracle!
Rain came, not as a gentle drizzle but a torrential force, going on for years, carving deep ravines into my canyon. Relentless, it eroded my ground—ostracism, bullying, mobbing, gaslighting, othering, name-calling, patronizing, belittling from all sides. Each drop a wound, each flood a deepening it‘s side canyon, breaking apart what once held firm. Yet rain is not just destruction. It washes away debris, loosens what no longer belongs, carries remnants of old burdens downstream. Now, as the storm eases, I see—new paths, fresh soil, space where something else might grow.
Darren stood at the kitchen window, looking out over the crops, bent and yellow, parched from the endless heat. Sheep kicked up clouds of dust as they wandered the cracked soil. Six months without a drop from the sky.
“Don’t get your hopes up, darl.” Meg looked up from a stack of invoices sprawled across the table.
There was a flash on the horizon, a deep rumble in the distance. Tap, tap, tapping on the tin roof.
It was a rainy day and Jess was bored. She decided to brave the storm to see what she could find outdoors. The fun of puddle jumping soon palled ("Baby stuff," she scoffed), so she wandered into the forest. There she heard the rain pattering onto the leaves above her head and the tiny frogs singing joyous hallelujahs in the swamp. And finally, best of all, hovering among the tiny orange jewelweed, she spotted the hummingbirds, easily dodging raindrops. She learned that there is beauty in even the soggiest days.
The first day confused us. Water from the dome, in drops, a few at a time. We had never seen such a thing. Our water came up from the earth, softly. It enriched the soil for good crops. Drops of dew fell from leaves, but not the shamayim. The second day terrified us. Not only was water coming from above us in great sheets, but the water beneath us turned land into mud. The third day, when the earth opened up, releasing torrents of water, we understood.
Heavenfall
By J. Louis
Thirst clawed at Shela’s throat as she walked the crop fields, rot clinging to the air. Her daughter, Kiera, clutched her hand and pinched her nose. Stormclouds gathered overhead, their obsidian depths laced with lightning.
Kiera’s grip tightened. “Mommy, is it going to rain?”
The elders predicted a starstorm–maybe rain, with luck.
The sky split open, and instead of water, glistening stardust fell, scattered by the wind, coating all with an ethereal sheen.
Shela forced down the lump in her throat and smiled, sprinkling a fistful over her astonished little girl’s head.
But she knew wonder would not save them.
So many dauntingly strong submissions. Great prompt, Miguel.
Raining Tears (90mg)
“Are you coming?”
She asked, knowing what he’d say if he could be bothered to look up from the console he was hooked on, if he would push aside the headset to even acknowledge her question.
She persisted, pushing for the answer she expected. “We could explore before dinner, check out the waterfall?”.
She stepped into his eyeline, brazenly interrupting his fantasy quest.
“Maybe later”, he muttered, with a hurtfully dismissive gesture thrown in for free, an unwanted honeymoon gift. “Anyway, it’s raining, judging by the wetness on your cheeks”.
Love your 90, Miguel! Here’s mine.
—————
FLESH
Melted?
Sure, gaze down from your sixth story office window, observe the puddles shimmering on the pavements, wonder at the liquid dripping from the open doors of the double decker bus. You can detach yourself so easily from up there.
Believe the lie they spun about it being an anomaly.
Me? I’m sheltering in the doorway of Val’s Diner. Thank god for the awning. That burger in my hand? I’ve no appetite for flesh now.
The rain corroded their skins. Acid burned them alive. Slowly.
They didn’t melt.
They liquified.
She said she preferred the rain. It was the only time she went for long walks. She’d come home soaked and dripping and I was always there with a warm towel. I’d give it a spin in the dryer first. I don’t think she knew. How much I loved seeing her in the doorway, needing me. Now she won’t talk to me. Doesn’t return my calls or respond to my texts. I stopped sending money for her birthday. The last thing she said to me was, "I hate you Mom."
90mg of Rain
Ben’s alarm clock shatters his fitful slumber at 4 a.m.
He wrestles the rubbery limbs of sleepy progeny into warm clothing and whispers urgent instructions to hurry.
His headlights cut through heavy rain on the way to the airport as seconds slip away.
Suitcases sorted, he hauls small children through Duty Free’s perfumed air.
Six uncomfortable hours later, he stands miserably overdressed, separated from the aquamarine ocean by the reception desk and paperwork.
He releases the junk-food-fuelled children into the screamingly bright sunshine and realises too late they need sunscreen.
It's meant to be good luck to have rain on your wedding day! What an uplifting story!
My 90 words of Rain:
_____________________
It rained all night,
a rain of darkness and gloom
as if all the souls in hell
were falling on us one by one,
in lamentations, weeping and longing
and when the day woke up,
it was windy,
like rumors from the past,
or a voice spitting words
like the cries of lost souls
begging for flesh to wrap around them,
and tonight it rained,
every night
as if there would never be new days
nor eyes to see them,
and all that remained were souls, darkness
cold and tears
For some people, the dour downpour drenches the soul like a cold, callous curtain of sadness and forlorn. People like that have never had to look up to face them storm.
Others see the sky's tears as life reaching upward to recharge itself as the cycle churns ever forward. They've never looked down to see the water and blood mixing together.
But me? The rain reminds me of the moment I first truly saw you, all the shadows and scars you wanted to hide from the world suddenly laid bare.
90 words: Rain
We prayed for rain for so long, even our immortal souls became parched, our spirits sorely chapped. Hopelessness desiccated our ambitions. Shame crusted over, flaking away our will to survive into the dry, ill wind that was our life. But we had faith. We kept praying for a miracle. Our prayers were answered when the Miracle Man came, offering us rain—for a price we readily paid. We waited. The Miracle Man was far away by the time the rain finally began to fall, years later. It was a miracle!
90mg of Rain
🌧️
Rain came, not as a gentle drizzle but a torrential force, going on for years, carving deep ravines into my canyon. Relentless, it eroded my ground—ostracism, bullying, mobbing, gaslighting, othering, name-calling, patronizing, belittling from all sides. Each drop a wound, each flood a deepening it‘s side canyon, breaking apart what once held firm. Yet rain is not just destruction. It washes away debris, loosens what no longer belongs, carries remnants of old burdens downstream. Now, as the storm eases, I see—new paths, fresh soil, space where something else might grow.
🌾🗺️
There has been little rain in these parts
One warm day has lifted my heart
I prepare to plant the seeds
In the soil which they need
For the moisture has kept in place
And though dry, I have a happy face
For God has provided for one little seed
A bed and water and the sun it needs
Thank God for the little blessings
His arranged order has me confessing
That Jesus will feed us all
Just give him a prayer call
Now when Spring comes
I will plant my seeds and welcome
His divine help will grow my seeds
For He gives me everything I need!
Thank you,Miguel, Jeannine and Scott!
“Looks dark out there.”
Darren stood at the kitchen window, looking out over the crops, bent and yellow, parched from the endless heat. Sheep kicked up clouds of dust as they wandered the cracked soil. Six months without a drop from the sky.
“Don’t get your hopes up, darl.” Meg looked up from a stack of invoices sprawled across the table.
There was a flash on the horizon, a deep rumble in the distance. Tap, tap, tapping on the tin roof.
Meg laughed. Darren beamed at her.
“Rain at last.”
The rain poured as Cassie stood outside the school, her pink dress clinging to her skin. Dalton had stood her up—again.
She clenched her fists, her anger burning hotter than the shame on her cheeks, but she didn’t cry.
Not this time.
She walked home, soaked and silent, a plan forming in her mind.
Dalton would regret this.
By Monday, everyone would know what he’d done. And by the end of the week, he’d wish he’d never crossed her.
Revenge was coming, and Dalton would never stand anyone up again.
It was a rainy day and Jess was bored. She decided to brave the storm to see what she could find outdoors. The fun of puddle jumping soon palled ("Baby stuff," she scoffed), so she wandered into the forest. There she heard the rain pattering onto the leaves above her head and the tiny frogs singing joyous hallelujahs in the swamp. And finally, best of all, hovering among the tiny orange jewelweed, she spotted the hummingbirds, easily dodging raindrops. She learned that there is beauty in even the soggiest days.
The first day confused us. Water from the dome, in drops, a few at a time. We had never seen such a thing. Our water came up from the earth, softly. It enriched the soil for good crops. Drops of dew fell from leaves, but not the shamayim. The second day terrified us. Not only was water coming from above us in great sheets, but the water beneath us turned land into mud. The third day, when the earth opened up, releasing torrents of water, we understood.
Noah was right.
Love this
thanks!!
A happy one! Do you feel a bit better? 🤗
Rain always makes me feel better haha.