When it Rains, It Pours

When would the rain ever stop? It seemed to have rained for weeks on end. The water was needed in other places, you know. Why did it happen like this? That those in need of water hardly got any and those who only dwelled in their homes, cars, shops and workplaces always got too much of it. There should be some kind of reckoning in the people to shift to the places without much rain when they didn’t need it as much. And then the people who did need the rain for their animals and food crops could collect the surplus and store it away for when it became dry. Surely. But it wasn’t only rain. There were storms too. Why live on the battered coastline in a city when the city could be shifted to the drier inland? And the farms could be shifted to the coast and rainy areas. If it didn’t work for even a decade for humanity, then surely humanity should see to it to wake up and do something proactive about it. Listening to nature instead of being horribly pathetic about the weather patterns. Nothing much would change for the city people. 

As she mused upon the topic of weather and humanity, Diane frowned. Her long black hair was straight and sleek, tied in a low ponytail. Of course she was wearing rain proof clothing, being a practical type of woman. She had all the answers as thunder rumbled like a bunch of young people playing at being real life street fighters. She hadn’t been outside for long, just checking on the flood situation in her street. There was nothing done about the need for better storm management by the local council. It was as if their minds had switched off when it came to accepting the fact that the area was flood prone, even though it hadn’t once been. Once, the land was fields and it grew crops for the people to eat, and the nourishment of the rain ran deep into the ground. Soaked up by the roots of old trees. Established practices that had somehow gone awry. According to a history book that she had read in the library, the people had begun to be lured from their farms when there was a promise of more money in the towns and cities. 

Then the establishment of farms was pushed away from the coast, and some were far inland. Which didn’t make sense as the cattle hardly had grass when the rain missed their farms completely. Crack! Thunder burst out of nowhere. It made Diane jump like a cat. She landed in a puddle and splashed mud and water all over herself. It made her giggle at herself. She wasn’t worried about her appearance or a bit of mud. She must have come from farm stock at some point. Maybe a cow! Ha ha ha! Better get inside again. She squelched along on the sodden earth. It wasn’t that flooded yet. She wasn’t trapped inside either. Only a bit of overflow near the inadequate street drains. When the emergency services came the other week with their pumps and large tubes, they vacuumed up most of the rainwater. 

What did they do with it when they took it away? Surely it took more resources to vacuum up water than it did to design and implement rainwater overflow solutions. It was probably prohibitive due to some kind of overflow of paperwork or even computer work that the council would have to complete. Work. They could do some work instead of sitting on their bums chatting about the latest reality show on their overpriced, oversized TV’s that they purchased with their credit cards. They couldn’t even afford them in the first place. Such droll and mundane lives. Why weren’t they pushed out by a people’s revolution? Diane sat at her desk and opened her laptop. She began to write a letter of petition. Then, midway through, decided to post the letter into a petition site. She finished writing the letter and copied it to the site. She posted the link to the petition to her social media pages. She titled it, 

What is the world coming to? When it rains, it pours.

The next morning there was still no respite from nature. Someone knocked at her front door. As she opened the door, lightning flashed like unwelcome light in Diane’s eyes. She pulled the person inside before they were singed or worse. Maybe it was a good thing, as the person had such value to her and even though they were a little upset that she pulled at their clothing so roughly, it didn’t really matter. 

“Hey Susie.” Diane smiled at her old friend. They had known each other for decades. Ever since they met at school. They knew each other so well. 

“What are you planning? There’s something going on!” Susie shook her umbrella on the tiles and dropped it near the door. 

“I’ve had enough of this weather not being made a priority to the council! I started a petition yesterday.” She had to tell Susie about it as Susie rarely looked at her social media accounts.

“Ah! Remember the one we made at university when we were opposed to the patriarchal oppression of the male students when the lecturers and professors weren’t watching?!” 

“Yeah, that was a bit different! We built up a group of women, men, transgender people, and those who felt oppressed, and marched in the central quadrangle! It was a lot more physically involved then to have any form of activism!”

“I bet the council haven’t gotten off their arses in 20 years!”

“Exactly!” Diane knew Susie would support her all the way, even though she didn’t like social media much. Susie preferred to paint her paintings at home in silence. Diane found a photo that she had taken of one of Susie’s artworks and asked her if she could use it for the campaign. 

“Sure!”

The rain continued to splatter upon plant leaves, bowing trees to respect what often didn’t respect them. Diane never heard anything back, but for a standardised email reply from the council. The floods came again. Susie fell ill and refused hospital treatment. Diane placed a single flower and a small copy of the painting on her hallway table to mark her dear friend’s passing. She couldn’t leave anything by a grave as it was under water.