And so it rains.

And So It Rained…

 It was morning, and the benevolent sun began to creep over the skyline in hues of scarlet and violet, giving depth to the mounds of stone created in the Badlands. The moon still hung in the sky on the opposite side of the rising sun, and everything was still. As I step outside, the dew of the grass dampens my socks as I stand to appreciate the beauty in front of me. The ranch hums with the neighs of horses and the prattle of chickens—and it is time to start the day. 

   I shimmy into a pair of overalls and leather boots and push my hands into thick work gloves. As I approach the stables, I stop in the chicken coop. The girls are practically begging to be let loose as I open the side door to let them roam. I pick up each egg and put it into a carrier to be brought inside. I carefully set the basket down before heading into the stables to greet Charlie and Belle, my horses. As I enter the stables, Charlie huffs through his nose—a way to express affection, probably. I gently pet their snouts and clean the barn. As I worked inside the stable, I began to hear the faint rhythm of what would sound like hail. I reached to open the door, and, on the ground, it looked like it had snowed—but the snow did not hold its usual shimmery, white color. There were pieces of gray, red, and green. It began to pile up quickly. 

   The mysterious precipitation began to push against the door in a manner that was unlike any rain or snow I had seen before. I closed the stables quickly and trenched my way through the precipitation. This “rainfall” was not wet like snow or hail would be it felt like moving my hands through polymer beads. I began to panic as I remembered that the chickens were left outside. The girls had been itchy to move from their confinements, and if they confused it with seed, I can’t imagine the damage that has been done. I immediately locked the stable doors and sprinted to the coop. I was too late. A few chickens were lifeless, and two more appeared to be choking on whatever was falling from the sky. I did what I could to nudge the living ones into the coop and promised myself to deal with the casualties later. I shut the coop up and ran back into the house to examine what was happening. 

   Leaving the coop, I noticed debris scattered across the highway. Empty water bottles, plastic bags, and straws were strewn on the pavement. It was a depressing sight. Suddenly, I felt a raindrop hit my nose, but as it appeared on the ground, it hit my face. Looking closer, I realized that this was plastic. I stopped myself again, stunned. Plastic rain? Is this even possible? As I took off my work boots, I shook what was in them into the sink. I pinched my fingers around the mysterious, hard surface. It was plastic. Maybe I am being delusional, but this stuff didn’t dissolve. I decided to light a tea candle under a metal dish with the stuff in it, and it began to move and omit an odor that could only be described as chemical. An acrid scent that burned as it filled the inside of your nose. I put out and began to attempt to cover up the scent. All I could manage now was to stare at my boots with a layer of plastic beads in their bottoms. I grabbed my phone and began to research. Plastic rain was a natural phenomenon before, but nearly to this degree. It was caused by plastic rain in the ocean. Due to the sun, wind, and waves, the plastic broke down and is now on my ranch in the Badlands. It’s a terrifying thought. I immediately began to text my husband, Nick.

   “Are you seeing what is happening?” I typed and received an immediate response.

   “Turn on the T.V.,” he sent another message, “My students are going apeshit.” Being at home with the animals was one thing to be worried about, but he had 240 children to deal with all day talking about the “rain.” 

I sat on the edge of our sofa and turned on the local news channel, and the title card echoed in bold PLASTIC RAIN: IS THIS THE END?  As the news reporter began to fearmonger for the next five minutes, I could only zone out. I read the bottom of the screen as the title cards kept coming in and out. All I could think about was how we would eliminate any of this. M mechanical vacuums? Where is this supposed to go? How is this going to affect our farms? Is it only happening here? South Dakota was a long way from the ocean; why would we be getting the effects of the rain? 

   As I tuned myself back into the broadcast, I heard the weatherman say that driving on this stuff could be more dangerous than driving in the snow or rain. With the wind, it could be dangerous to be outside at all. I began to sweat as I thought about my husband driving home in the rain or leaving his classroom. Driving through the hills on your own is horrifying enough, but driving through mountains of plastic seems borderline horrific. I text him again:

   “Do you want me to come and meet you at school?” I impatiently paced in our dining room. 

   “No. Don’t risk it. I will be okay.” He sends it back immediately and confidently. 

   “You can’t outdo the apocalypse, Nick.” I needed to sound tense. I needed to sound cruel. 

   “Sure, I can. I need to get home to you. I’ll drive slowly, and once it’s done, we can enjoy the end together.” I could hear the tone in his voice. I don’t want this to be “the end” yet.

   As I waited for the undulating waves of plastic to subside, I paced around the ranch house for Nick to get home. He was so incessant upon coming home that I couldn’t believe he would risk his life to come to spend time with me as plastic fell from the sky. 

I left the T.V. on, watching the title cards on the T.V. show change from FLORIDA RECEIVES PLASTIC TORNADO?   to INDIANA SEES PLASTIC FLOODS—TAKE SHELTER IMMEDIATELY.   This was a global phenomenon, and maybe Nick was right. The title cards changed as quickly as the rain fell: ALABAMA SEES PLASTIC BEACH! SCIENTISTS ARE MOVING QUICKLY WITH RESEARCH! 

As the hours passed and the rain continued to fall, I couldn’t help but wonder if Nick would make it home safely. I paced back and forth, biting my nails and watching the news reports with growing anxiety. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. I rushed to answer it, my heart trying to escape my chest. As I opened the door, I was met with a gust of wind and a barrage of polymer. And then I saw Nick standing on the doorstep, soaked to the bone and covered in plastic. 

“We need to leave now,” he stated urgently. “It’s not safe here anymore.” And with that, we rushed out of the house and into the unknown, not knowing what danger lay ahead.