Cometh the Rain

Wherever Kira went, it rained. Not an unusual occurrence one might have claimed. In the context of her deluges, however, it was. No matter where Kira stood, either inside or out, the heaven’s opened and poured. They didn’t pour on her neighbours, nor her little chihuahua, just her.

This strange situation lasted for five years, then as suddenly as it had started, stopped. Like God had turned a tap off, the rain cloud’s that were a permanent feature of Kira’s life just disappeared. No more rain. No more wet beds, sofas, car interiors, gardens or streets.

“What a relief,” said Mrs Chambers from next door.

“Thank goodness for that,” said Alan, Kira’s boss.

“About time,” said their local weatherman relieved his predictions might stick.

Kira smiled at them all, replied that she’d miss it, then at long, long last put down her umbrella.

The Friends Who Never Were

There were little people living in the bottom of my garden. And, when I say little, I don’t mean a wee bit smaller than you or me, but microscopic.
 It was quite by chance that I spotted them playing football against some rather outclassed ants. I hid behind my garden shed, held my breath, and observed. At first, I thought there just a few: I couldn’t have been more wrong. One by one the little people slid down the bank of the stream that backed into my garden, and onwards into my prizewinning flowerbeds. Some danced, some sung in high pitched voices, others just laid back and took in the sun.
 I stayed there all day until it started to rain and the little folk all hurried away.
 That night I was so happy. I didn’t have many real friends and felt sure that if the rain ever stopped, I could return to them and introduce myself. It would all be such fun, such wonderful fun. But it didn’t stop raining for three days.
 When, at last, I trudged down the garden in my Wellington boots, I saw a world in tatters. The little folk lay all over the place. Some were drowned in tiny puddles that to them were like oceans, others hung from grasses and reads tangled and dead. I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.
 When I’d gathered as many as I could and buried them under an upturned flowerpot, I made my despondent way back to the house. And there, written in the tiniest lettering in the back door’s condensation were the words ‘Thank you.’ That too soon dripped away, but I hoped it was from my friends who never were. How I hoped.