Silver Rain

Submitted into Contest #112 in response to: Write about a character driving in the rain.... view prompt


Crime Christian Creative Nonfiction

Silver Rain

I think about the silver rain, or rather the season of the silver rain. When the miracles came. Definition of miracle:

an extraordinary and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore attributed to a divine agency.


an unusual or wonderful event that is believed to be caused by the power of God

However, I will not speak of the secret things. The miraculous is a holy thing, to be cherished and respected.

But I will speak of us, or rather you. Were we meant to meet? Was the suffering that came meant to happen?

I am left with so many questions and not many answers. Because pain and suffering and trauma and loss are not gifts for all. Happiness hasn’t been my gift though so I cannot really talk about it.

The nightly interface between reality and sleep is a strange place now. I find myself avoiding that lying there moment waiting for sleep to fall by playing Jewel Academy on my phone over and over and over, level after pointless level. How did this happen to me?

But I will talk about this:

harass or persecute (someone) with unwanted and obsessive attention.

I never thought this could happen to me. The staccato thoughts that come are somewhat obsessive too; short sharp bursts of memory jabbing like darts:

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it.

We were flung together and the pull was extraordinary. The pull of gravity – two intense souls both grappling various hues and shades of pain. Colliding cataclysmically.

I felt you had a halo emanating from you. I felt safe under the beams of light. I felt love and loved. I felt you were safe and pure and real and redeemed.

The first half was extremely beautiful. Helping vulnerable souls and so many cups of tea, tomatoes. You used another language; ‘the hair fairies’, ‘winklings’.

Why did it change? Why did it go wrong? Why? Why? Why?

You revealed feelings for me. Feelings I could not reciprocate in the way you wanted. Because I could not sin. Temptation is not sin and the temptation to have something I have never known was so vast. So I cut you off, snip.

And then it began. Black rain you named it. Mr Jekyll and Mr Hyde you once said to me. I never thought I would meet the bad one (I am not even sure which one of the two was the bad one).


“Hello, is that Aurelia? “. “This is Pat from Victim Support. How are you feeling?”

“I am very low. He is relentless. I am so bombarded. He has sent me numerous texts and emails. I was getting about fifteen texts a day at a minimum. Every time I find a way to cut off one channel of communication, he finds another”.

“Have you reported it all to the police?” It’s really important to log everything, however small or insignificant it might seem. It builds a picture”. “You also need to block his number”. Can you screenshot the texts?” That will assist the police?”

“Yes I have sent over numerous screenshots. I have sent them all to the police”.

“There is an app you can put on your phone. It’s called Hollieguard. That will help others know if you are in danger.”

“Thank you Pat. I will do that”.

“Try to look forward”. It’s important to keep positive”.

“I just want it to stop”. I cannot believe the drip drip effect filling my life. I have to lock my car doors now, everywhere I go. I am always looking over my shoulder when I am out. I think about my safety all the time”.

“You are doing all the right things Aurelia”.

“Thanks Pat for all your support”.

The messages ring in my ears like text bullets firing at me. “I hate the silence”. “Why will you not speak to me?” “Please, I love you”. Relentless.

My life was well ordered and successful. A senior, well respected NHS worker. I enjoyed helping others. I wanted to help you and I felt that I could.

You told me you were lonely in your marriage. You asked if I was lonely. You asked if I was hungry and told me you knew I hadn’t had lunch. You guessed I didn’t eat properly and realised I didn’t look after myself very well. I was amazed at how you noticed the small things that no one else seemed to. You bought me lunch and listened and for the first time in a long long time I felt heard and seen and understood. I was starving-starving for attention and I had no idea. I had been so invisible, busy in my career. We spoke of our vulnerabilities; I felt you understood me.

I watch lights dancing wildly on the tree. Christmas is nearing. Last Christmas it seemed like the lights had been switched on and illuminations sparkled across my heart. Lunch, coffees, lattes to be precise or tomatoes as you always called them, time spent with you and your wife. My trust growing like a tiered wedding cake-a soft sponge layer at first, then tier upon tier. Until I went away.

The new job in London was a huge distance. It took hours on the motorway and I stayed in a hotel.

The calls were every morning and evening at first-I felt cared for, heard, supported and no longer alone.

Dinners at your house, dinners at my house. I loved you, I loved your wife. But not in that way-not the way you wanted me to. It was a beautiful sunny day when you told me. I knew we had all grown close and I had just a tad of confusion in what I felt-the magnetism of your personality was compelling. But my moral compass was too strong-I knew right from wrong. Temptation is not sin.

“I know you have feelings for me, but nothing is going to happen”.

But that was a smokescreen. The fire of desire. I struggled with feelings, because I was oh so aware that temptation can be sin. If you think it, isn’t it just the same as acting upon it? Isn’t that what Jesus said? Temptation taunts and grimaces and entices.

But I stood my ground. Not perfectly, I admit. But you had groomed me well. I was lonely, I was vulnerable, I was alone. And you seemed so adept-I think you had done this before.

And then I think I realised I was trapped. I was always in contact-you would call whenever you liked. And come on-I always answered. You messengered me all the time-at night, in the morning. I should have questioned it, but I did not. Slowly the water began to boil and like a lobster in a pot I started to feel the heat rising around me.

And then the odd behaviour began-you started to pull my friends in-helping them, drawing them into to the skeins of the web you had woven around my life. Dinners with friends, photos with friends; every web you could weave you skilfully wove. So then I was encased in your silky skeins.

The moment of truth-when my friend told me you had sent her a sexual message. I suddenly knew with a ferocity that burned-you were not the sweet kind benefactor I had grown to love. You were in fact a sexual predator, preying upon women’s vulnerabilities. But now I know that I was mistaken-you were simply trying to make me jealous. The obsession was in place. And in retrospect I wanted it.

I have been told that it wasn’t my fault, but deep, deep down I wonder-was it? Did I seek to distroy your marrij as you say? Am I a Jezebel? Somehow I don’t think so. Your script is not my script.

So where do we go from here? How can I make this stop? Do I even want it to stop? Maybe yes, maybe no. I miss you so much-that is the hardest thing to admit-I truly miss you. Or I miss the version of yourself you sold me. And yes I did love you. I hope it was the right way. I chose to walk away and that is how I tried so hard to save, not wreck your marriage.


Two years on. Rain on a motorway: swish swish swish goes the wiper. I think of rain as God’s tears. I think back to my brother’s funeral; the tiny baby shaped coffin and the rain coming down. My uncle with his arm around me. I knew God was crying that day.

Randy Crawford sings in mellifluous tones:

Tender falls the rain

As I speak your name

And what it means to me

Tender falls the tears

As I think of all the years

And all the joy we shared

Leaving me this way

There's just no more words to say...

Am I playing this to summon you? Why oh why do I play the cd you posted through my door (I think). Do I want this to stop? Am I addicted to you?

Suddenly my wiper stops working. There is a se4rvice station ahead and I pull in.

The kind man mends my wiper and the rain stops. However it starts again, pouring down. My wiper holds and then flops uselessly. There is no visibility and I am driving. It is getting darker.

“I think my windscreen wiper has been tampered with. I have a stalker”.

“Yes I think it has defini8tely been interfered with, the clip is broken”.

I know it is you. I know you are trying to kill me. I cannot see. I put my wiper on and all it does it scrape the windscreen. I put my hazard lights on. A car is close and honks as it almost crashes into the back of me.


But I got away. And I am about to leave you; to finally break this ridiculous cat and mouse cycle.

I am a statistic and I share my story with the national press:

Terrified victims of stalking face a desperate postcode lottery as they seek justice, the Sunday People can reveal.

Women have been murdered or brutally assaulted in horrifying cases. Many were left physically and mentally scarred.

Yet our research has found that just 11% of suspects reported for alleged stalking end up facing prosecution.

Alarmingly, in some areas it is less than 5% – meaning only one in 20 victims sees the accused end up in court.


Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

September 19, 2021 10:34

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