Why I Detest the Rain(Fiction)

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 Written by Etinosa Egharevba

I detest the rain so much. 

Photo Credit: Pinterest


I understand that the skies are meant to perform their God-given responsibilities and pour out their anger on us through those rather salty liquids that either make or mar our days.


Growing up, something about the rain had intrigued me. However, everything changed last year. And till kingdom comes, I will always have a deep resentment for the rain.


All this resentment began when I lost my baby, Little Mark.


Little Mark had been a godsend to me. A product of a vile event, a product of rape. He was my Lily in the mire. His chuckles were enough to brighten my mood whenever I was sad. His tears were enough to dampen my mood no matter how ecstatic I was. 


Little Mark reminded me of the event that took away my innocence, but he was too innocent. Against all odds, I had kept the baby and I loved that I did. I had never been so attached to anyone.


Last year, I was on my way home from Little Mark's school. I remember holding his hands and playing with him, entertaining his numerous but adorable questions. For a two year old, he talked too much. 


This was until the rain began. Unfortunately, Little Mark and I could not find shelter. And we were stranded in the rain, feeling every drop of heavenly liquid glorify our dark skins. After the ordeal, Little Mark got sick. He had died in my arms, a week after he got sick. 


Since then, my hatred for the rain has been severe. After all, it will go down in records that I failed in doing the one thing I dreamed of for a good portion of my life.


Little Mark was always meant to die by my hand. In the most creative way possible. Perhaps suffocated with his special blanket or crushed under his special PJ masked themed car. The rain took all the fun out of it. And now, history will always remember that the rain beat me to killing my son. 



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