4
Rain? 10:25 susan susan: trisha do you want to contribute something to our journal 10:26 please please? me me: dyou want to take something from my blog? 10:27 susan susan: wouldnt you rather write something new to be published? me me: nope. susan susan: its coming out end of this month me me: aaargh. if i think of something i’ll send it in then. susan susan: write about the rain 10:28 its been raining like mad in the nights me me: I’m not going to write about the rain. i’m asleep at night. susan susan: same here i keep missing it me: hahaha me susan susan: and in the morning its damn wet and everyone’s talking about it perplexing.
They say it rains at night. Dark clouds rolling their way through darker skies, splitting apart, ripped apart, by shreds of silver stark lightening, tidal waves broken into teardrop fragments crashing their way to the dusty bowels of concrete cities, winds by the thousand churning the still and murky air. And inside, tucked away in tiny walled boxes, you sleep. You sleep, with sweat trickling down the end of your nose, down the crevices of your neck, forming patterns around your damp hair on your bricked pillows, and you toss and turn uncomfortably. What passes through your mind? Glimmers of unread tutorial readings, perhaps. Or the knowledge that the next day’s going to be as hot as the day that has just shrivelled up and died: as hot as hell, basically. Either way, you lie there, half asleep and half awake, not hearing the welcome sound of rain lashing and whipping the walls and pavements, invisible even to the unlit street lamp that never works, the one that stands just outside the temple where they start singing in unbearable brash voices at six in the morning. Strange how you don’t hear the rain, but you hear that music (a word used loosely) and the ringing of the bells and you crack open an eye, knowing you still have an hour to sprawl ungracefully on your filthy sheets before being late to class. And then, finally, when you step outside in a valiant attempt to tolerate a new day: the sun. It shines, it shines, it shines, and your head hurts, and water starts trickling its way down your neck and it’s not because you didn’t dry yourself properly after your bath.
o nary Road. The Sheltering Sky. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. The Painted Bird. Neuromancer. Never Let Me Go. The Moviegoer. A Handful of
