Paria Shahir (9) | STAFF REPORTER
I sat on my chair scouring through my mind, feeling very sedentary, searching for an excuse for the anger I carried everywhere with me. As the heart meandered through the mind–or perhaps it was the other way around, I’m not sure–I heard the first drops of rain hitting the ground. The gentle thrumming turned into a cloudburst at once. I struggled to rise from my chair, pull back the thick shut curtains, and watch the night getting more blurry and vague each second. I was pushed back on the chair in awe of the delicate music being played outside.
As the little droplets fell in throngs, I felt my shoulders drop too, along with all the long confined tears and nauseating feelings being released. I was free of old and rusty anger, I felt too light to hold on to it. Each lightning strike made my heart race, pumping fresh, vigorous blood all over my body.
Then the rain stopped. My room was suddenly filled with void noises; it was a loud screeching sound of silence. I felt infuriated at myself. Why hadn’t I taken the opportunity to watch the rainfall closely, while the world was asleep and the silence weighed pleasantly all over my body, and mine only? Occasionally, I heard a distant lightning strike, but it was weak against the prevailing nothingness, and it didn’t accompany the downfall of an entire dancing world. It was only a dull and dry flash that gave vain hope and brought back the inescapable anger.
