The Night of the Rain

drip, drip, patter. The drizzle of rain turns into a drenching waterfall. I run to the window and gaze through the rain-covered windows. I smile. I turn, checking the clock on my nightstand. It's 12:27 am. Tiptoeing downstairs, through our old farmhouse, without waking up my parents is an ordeal. When I'm out the door, I breathe in the fresh, yet humid air. The rain soaks through my hair and my clothes. I feel it running down my body, encompassing me in its wet cloak. I lift my chin to the sky and twirl, my hair flying out, drenched as it is. I love this. I think. I do. I truly love the rain and the outdoors. Dancing in the rain. Singing at night. Truly seeing and loving myself, if only for a moment.

7 years later...

"Wake up!" an abrasive woman's voice yells. I sit up immediately. It's the same place I've been since I was kidnapped at 14. Used as nothing but a toy. A toy to pleasure the elders.

A hand comes down on my face. I stifle a scream. Then get up immediately. I hadn't realized I was still in bed. Looking over at Marie, a girl I have made friends with, I grimace and shake my head. She shrugs a little and grimaces back. We have to communicate silently, without noise, or we’ll be beaten. And everyone knows that beaten toys are undesirable. So then, we’ll be disposed of, or sent to work at camps. Whatever the elders say. 

Needless to say, no one likes the elders. But somehow, everyone respects them. 

I think about my family often. Where were they taken, or were they? What happened after I was captured? Suddenly, I feel a sharp poke in my back. I turn around, ready for the worst. It’s Marie. She’s already sweaty and looks exhausted. Her usually tight bun is starting to unravel, her beautiful black hair falling down her back and her clothes plastered to her body. Today is my mending day, where I take time to recover from a week’s worth of work. On mending days we are also all assigned mending jobs where we either repair clothes and undergarments, or help other people recover if they are badly injured or sick. Marie glances around, redoing her hair, then points to me, her, and then the door. My eyes widen. We’ve talked, well, signed about this, even joked, but it was never serious. Or was it? She always had this look of longing on her face whenever either of us mentioned it, and sometimes was oddly serious about it. Even if I thought it was a good idea, there are still guards at each door and several layers of extra security around the whole building. There’s nearly no way to get out. 

She takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. Apparently, she’s got this all planned out because she takes a scrap of fabric out of a pocket and darts over to the camera, and places it over it. Pointing to the vent and holding her finger to her lips, she gently removes the cover. She crawls in, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I follow. 

We scramble through the ventilation tubes as quickly and quietly as we can. Cool air washes over us as we hurry through the cold, metallic tubes. Finally, there seems to be an end to this maze of frigid tunnels. As Marie slips through the end of the vent, I begin to wonder why it was so easy to get through and out. This place is so heavily guarded that no one ever goes out and no one ever comes in. Everything is double, triple, quadruple guarded. She leads me to what seems to be a large pipe, her hair again beginning to come loose from her tight bun. She shakes out her hair, it falling down around her shoulders, then suddenly looks around, frightened at a small noise. Her big blue eyes dart around nervously, as though someone will come and drag her back. She points to the pipe, holds her nose, and makes swimming motions. We’ll have to swim. Before she can hesitate any longer, I grab her hand and we slide in, trying to stay quiet. After a moment of shock, we allow the water to sweep us away. We might die in here. There is no way of knowing how long we’ll be underwater. But suddenly, we’re in a pool of water and waste. I gag and shudder. For a moment I think there is feces in my eyes, all I can see is brown. Then Marie reaches over to push my hair back, and I realize it was just my hair in my face. She picks something out of my hair, then gently braids it. I do the same for her, running my fingers through her hair to untangle it somewhat. She sighs in defeat, not knowing what to do next. I have to take the lead. I need to get us out. It’s my turn. Grabbing her hand I pull her to her feet. She looks at me, confused.

“Let’s go.” I say, speaking for the first time in 7 years. I surprise myself. My voice is scratchy, unlike how it was before, and echoes around the chamber we are in. With wide eyes, Marie nods and replies, “Yes.” To my surprise, her voice is soft and not at all scratchy. She must see my look of befuddlement, because she then giggles and says, 

“I’ve practiced.” 

“I can see that.” I nod and smile. Smile. It is so foreign on my face. I never smiled in that place. Marie beams and hums quietly as we crawl along another sort of drainage pipe. A smaller one. When we see sunlight ahead, streaming through some sort of crack, we crawl faster. Suddenly, the ground drops and we can stand. Wriggling through the small crack, we are surrounded by houses and sunlight. Squinting in the sudden sun, we twirl. I never thought I'd see this again.