Rain
by the Space Pirate
Ryoko
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I noticed the
change in pressure first. Millie
gleefully skipped her red disk over two of mine. "King me!" she chirped cheerfully, apparently unaware
of the drastic disturbance in the air.
The room felt cooler, but somehow space seemed heavy, loaded with
electric charges that put my hair on end.
I'd never felt anything like it.
A breeze creaked
open the swinging saloon doors, making me look up. The wind was cool--almost ten degrees cooler--and damp.
Millie sniffed,
forgetting her game. "Mr.
Wolfwood?" she asked timidly.
"Mr. Wolfwood, does the air smell funny to you?"
It did. Like earth from a newly-dug well, like the
heavy scent of a sponge left too long in water.
I stood and walked
to the doorway, an uneasy prickle at the back of my neck. It was too dim for early afternoon. Dark clouds had covered the sun, darkening
the steady blue sky and pulling the town into an early twilight. I stood on the porch and watched the
swirling grey--clouds were rare; I'd seen them only two or three times before.
Lightning charged
and crackled, outlining the clouds with brilliant color. Millie cowered behind me. I'd seen lightning before--bright bolts of
yellow or blue streaking across the sky, most often from one rare cloud to
another, but sometimes down to earth.
When it hit a town or farm, fire was the inevitible conclusion.
"Lightning,"
I explained to Millie. A bright bolt
fell to the earth a few miles away, sending a cold shiver down my spine. Loud thunder split the sky, rattling the windows
and making Millie squeak. "It's
caused by heat. I doubt it will hurt
us."
"What makes it
so loud?"
Just as I was about
to answer, the sky burst. With a rush
almost as loud as the thunder, water poured from the clouds. Within seconds it had washed away the
afternoon heat, turned the dusty roads into dark brown clay. The pounding of it against the tin porch
roof was deafening, but I was too astounded to move.
Rain.
In all the years of
my life, I'd never seen rain. Precious
water falling from the sky--I'd been told it could happen, that it wasn't just
a childhood myth, but I'd only half-believed in it.
Pale grey wood of
weathered buildings became slick and brown again. The cracked earth soaked up the water greedily and dust became
mud on the ground. Over the roar of
water against tin, I could hear the thomases crying.
My hands were
shaking as I reached beyond the shelter of the porch, stretching my fingers out
to catch the rain. So wet. It streamed over my hands and soaked into my
shirt cuffs. Cold. Without thinking, I brought my fingers to my
mouth, sucking the water from them.
Shouts and cries
surrounded us as the townspeople realized the miracle they were
witnessing. Children dashed into the
streets, mouths wide to catch the water.
Women carried pots and tubs and every vessel imaginable, setting them
out on window ledges and sidewalks to collect the precious rain. I heard Millie call for Meryl, darting
inside to wake her friend from her nap.
Then I noticed
him. Vash. He stood in the middle of the once-dusty street, his face tilted
upward toward the sky. Rain sluiced
over his face and hair, coursing down the shiny leather of his coat to puddle
around his boots. His eyes were closed,
his face serene and still. It was as
though he were being fed by the water, as though he were absorbing it and
gaining power from it.
Lightning tore
through the sky, and for an instant his pale face gleamed green against the
dark clouds. The bouncing rain looked
like a glowing aura, splashing from his upturned face and shoulders. His hair was flat and heavy with water; it
streamed down his neck and beneath his collar.
He stood perfectly still.
And I realized that
he'd seen rain before. The easy comfort
in his stance, the lack of surprise in his features betrayed him. This was his rain.
But how? I took all three steps in one stride,
ignoring the mud that splashed over my shoes and onto my pants. Rain soaked me, making my hair run into my
eyes and putting out the cigarette that hung from my lips. My clothes became cold, clammy against my
skin. I didn't care. I walked to where Vash stood--he was the
only man I'd called a friend for as long as I could remember--and asked him how
he'd made it rain.
He opened his eyes,
blinking away the water that clung to his lashes. His gaze was sober, quiet.
He didn't answer.
"How?" I
urged, grasping his shoulders and shaking.
If he could do this, if he could make it rain, then why now? Why not before, for all the desperate,
dehydrated towns we'd come through?
"How did you do this?"
Vash looked up at
the sky, not bothering to close his eyes as the rain pounded his face. "All I did was wish," he explained
quietly. He lifted his hands to feel
more of the water.
I let go, closing
my eyes and opening my mouth like a kid, trying to drink enough to quench my
lifelong thirst. It was better than
brandy. It ran, cool and sweet down my
throat. I believed him. As crazy as it sounded, I believed
him--believed that the gods would grant any wish made by Vash the Stampede.
Millie and Meryl
ran out to join us, transforming Vash into the big goofy oaf he always
pretended to be for them. I studied him
for a long time, wondering for the millionth time what was so special about
him. He grinned at me over Meryl's head
and I found myself smiling, deciding that it wasn't my place to question
miracles today. Grabbing Millie's
hands, I swung her around, feeling like a child again as we all celebrated the
rain.
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end