A week’s worth of rain and still going strong. It’s smacking the library window like hundreds of little bullets. The intensity gives me a sense of urgency, speeding my search. I stumble my way through the shelf, letting books hit the floor and stuffing others back slapdash.
“Goodness!” cries a women, “What on earth are you doing?”
“Sorry, Ms. Haas,” I say, leaning back and panting slightly. I’ve searched almost every inch of the library and I’m growing desperate. If mankind evolved at the same pace as the inkling of dread in my stomach, everyone would be kicking Superman’s butt.
“Stop that, Melony,” she waddles from her office, “Are you possessed?”
“Sorry,” I repeat with the sincerity of Walmart’s customer service, “Did someone check out that book I returned a while ago?”
“You did this to find a book?” she says, “Gracious. Clean up that mess and I’ll find you another nice book.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, “I left the - I left something really important in the pages.”
Her face twists a little, but she covers it with a smile that doesn’t reach anything else on her face. “I see, dear,” she says, “Drake Anderson checked it out.”
I mutter something not allowed in the school library, then rush to the door.
“Melony, you still nee-”
I throw open the door and let it slam behind me. Fortunately, the eaves prevent me from becoming instantaneously wet and only a few splatters form on my clothing. The rain will become worse unless I find that stupid book. The town will be washed away like a sandcastle on the beach. Mud is already bubbling up in glue-like puddles that coat the sidewalks.
The upside to living in a bean-sized town is that I know everyone. I think I know Drake’s address.
Taking a breath, I ru...
... middle of paper ...
... from his hand. I move for it as it blows, barely catching it between my fingers. “Rain! Rain!” I read, “You’ve gone!” The rains blurs the ink, “A-awa. . . Away!”
“The ink is washing out!” Chase shouts over the wind.
“And you’ve-! Um. . . Come!”
Someone holds a jacket over the paper, but rain still splatters it. A whip of wind tears the page in half. “Again! The - Er, This day!”
“Now, go away!”
My voice is hoarse,;my mouth filled with rainwater. “Come only!” I spit, “On an app - appro-” Forcing my voice, I cry, “Appropriate day!”
Everything stops and I fall to my knees.
The boys are panting beside me; Drake clutching his jacket.
We drip for a moment in silence, then laugh hysterically.
“Th-that worked!” Chase says.
“That was amazing!” Drake adds.
I plop into the muddy grass, “Told you I’m not crazy.”
" Just tell me, is anything wrong or cloudy with your vision " He asks looking at me very intently.
“We’re going to print out copies of the books we have remembered over the years that we have stored, and share with the leftover survivors that we have been found.”
“Well how do you explain your behavior the morning I tried to throw away the pearl?” I asked, remembering the sharp pain of his clenched fist making contact with my jaw. “You had become so w...
"The sound of rain smacking down on my concrete patio about ten feet away from the typewriter, rain beating down on the surface of the big aqua-lighted pool out there across the lawn.... rain blowing into the porch and whipping the palm fronds around in the warm night air" (Thompson, 108)
I peered around through the rain, desperately searching for some shelter, I was drowning out here. The trouble was, I wasn’t in the best part of town, and in fact it was more than a little dodgy. I know this is my home turf but even I had to be careful. At least I seemed to be the only one out here on such an awful night. The rain was so powerfully loud I couldn’t hear should anyone try and creep up on me. I also couldn’t see very far with the rain so heavy and of course there were no street lights, they’d been broken long ago. The one place I knew I could safely enter was the church, so I dashed.
In the beginning of the story, a violent rainstorm rages outside. Rain falls hard and lightning strikes on a cold, windy night. By the end of the story, the weather is warmer and the storm has cleared, leaving only puddles in the banks of the streets.
Baym, Nina, Arnold Krupat, Robert S. Levine, and Jeanne Campbell Reesman. "The Storm." The Norton Anthology of American Literature. 8th ed. Vol. C. New York, NY: Norton, 2012. 557-61. Print.
...o be correct. Hemingway uses rain as a sign of death, sadness or to give one of his characters the state of being afraid. The despair brought by rain, Frederic says „ good-bye to [Catherine], and then „[leaves] the hospital and walk[s] back to the hotel in the rain". The rain described as he walks home represents again a cleansing in which Tenente will be forced to start a whole new life now.
"We had just gotten into a fight, but it was foolish. I was trying to make it up to him by making his portraits of our love story in pastel... Funny, now he'll eventually gain some notoriety. Excuse me... I have to go."
“Whatever dude. Don’t even know why you’re burying em,” Scott brooded, leafing through the pages of Lycanthropy and You before something caught his eye and he started smiling with amusement at one of the pages.
“They had passed autumn afternoons when they were nine years old in the hollowed-out base of a cedar tree, where they sprawled on the ground looking out at the rain as it pummeled the sword ferns and ivy. At school they were stran...
Suddenly, I snapped awake. It really was the day of my party, and it really was pouring down rain outside. I trudged out of my room and had breakfast, all the while staring gloomily at the storm raging outside.
As the night approached, I began to ruminate over my current problems again. My umbrella broke and an unfortunate jagged branch from a tree had torn apart my only rain poncho. I fell into the lake twice that left me with only one set of dry clothes. It was also forecasted to rain heavily tomorrow – a seemingly condemning concurrence. I was completely defenseless against the rain – no clothes, no umbrella and no poncho. What if I got wet? The clothes on my back were the last of the dry and wearable clothing that I had and I cannot bear to sludge around with dripping wet clothing.
Stepping outside, I instantly notice the fresh, wet scent of earth. As I continue walking, I willingly allow the sprinkling droplets to envelop my entire body. My shoes are soon soaked; with each step I take, I feel a puddle of water move beneath my feet. The rain hurls itself violently on the dark, slippery pavement. My hair is dripping with ice-cold raindrops which plummet to the earth with every movement I make. The numbing effect of the icy downpour is finally setting in. Fierce thunder clouds sneak into the murderous sky and flashing lightning strikes begin. The rain falls faster and heavier. My feet move quickly as I run down the road. I rush into my house and proceed to stare out the window and observe the vicious storm that is only beginning. The weather has the uncanny ability to promptly change a mood. Rain holds several emotions that could be considered polar opposites; they range from cleansing to depression, love to anger, and life to death.