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Short Stories - Humanising the Souls of Raindrops... :-)

Su1c1de, w4r, fil1cide victims of mate crimes and medical neglect… I write this for the innocent victims of our world and society... Rain drops tell our lost souls stories...

It’s impossible to truly process the sickening numbers of the death toll. It’s so hard to connect to the numbers & the dreadful loss humanity has faced- the numbers are too shocking, numbing, too painful to process. It’s hard to connect to numbers but we connect to humans & their stories.

I feel it today, as I stare outside my window at the pouring rain. Each rain drop hammers against the window with an urgency - as if they have a story to share, a lessons from the heavens to learn. I imagine the rain drops are lost souls - I always have done - it’s one of many reasons why I love the rain. so I watch them rain down on us, & I try to humanise them - to connect to their stories. This is something I do to process shocking or traumatising information, seen on the news. if I cant see the real life humans who have been victims, I can imagine I see their souls, in the outpouring of rain and emotion around me.

As I watch, there’s a raindrop that dances across the window & I imagine it’s souls story-

A sketchbook lies open on a paint splattered desk. A rainbow, half finished, adorns a double page spread. Beautiful calligraphy states “stay home-save lives” & ‘thank you nhs’. It’s not finished yet-she wanted it to be perfect. She never gave herself credit for the art, that she created.

Its other pages are filled with watercolour sketches. They are powerful, & beautiful. Piles of sketch books & art supplies scatter the room. There are stories behind every sketch, every book, every paint splatter. Moments in time collected forever.

There is only one person who knows all the stories. Only one person who can finish colouring the rainbow - but now she never will. She will never get to tell those stories.

and my heart breaks for her, for her loved ones... for a society that let us think it was okay to ignore her struggles.

There is a raindrop slowly flickering down - I imagine it’s souls story-

There is a pet dog, patiently waiting by a front door of an old house that creeks with age.

He is a little dog, but he has an oversized personality. He has known only one owner since he was a puppy -with him a life time of unconditional love, & play. His little Puppy dog tail wagging ferociously with joy every time he sees someone, he barks in hope, but with time, his little tail wags less & less, until it stops, & cowers firmly between his legs.

He will never see his owner again, & he won’t understand why.

My eyes weep at the implication of the the heart ache shattered into our loyal friends soul, shattered forevermore.

There is a raindrop that chases 2 smaller raindrops into a giant puddle - and I imagine the souls story. A school building stands abandoned, cars scatter the road, and decaying groceries lay ignored among the dusty roads. A residential street so quiet and beige, among the brazen smoke filled night. Yet, the screams of strangers are earie on the smoke filled breeze. Its time for a family outing! so full of excitement! First they played hide and seek to hide from the big heavy boots that struck their creaking floor boards, then they were super quiet - as quiet as mice! - as they snuck out the back window and crept super low like a caterpillar across the yellow dead grass - to escape the only home they had ever known, into the waiting car. The children know its not really a game, they heard the gunfire, and saw the blinding, shaking lights as their entire world implodes, into scattered remanence of safety and splintered bricks of a world they once adored. The mother hurries her children first to school, then to hospital, all in search of the next rescue operation, only to find herself separated among the frenzied crowd of screaming, crying, desperately injured people, just like her... She screams and searches, battered and bruised, no longer caring of the ever present danger rounding the corner in crashing sounds of tank trails and fire; Her desperate begs for help, are met with anxious smiles and cautious sympathy, "sorry, I have to look after my own" they say, as they leave her alone. Instead she sits, in isolation surrounded by people, crumpled to the ground as agony transform her, into a scattered soul, destined to walk this crumbling earth alone, forever searching, for those forever missing. Only she can help her tiny babies, her children so young, so innocent yet so trapped ... and now she never can make them feel safe ever again. A hiss of flight, a crashing boom splinters out, and with the heart stopping fear as the heat slams into her, suddenly, its over... she will never know if her children made it to safety or not... and they may never know, how hard she tried to fight to get back to them... My heart and soul shatters at a reality I could never imagine in my wildest of dreams, and I hope beyond hope that humanity works out how to bridge the divide that tares apart so many innocent people... A rain drop sits reliably still on the window sill, & I imagine it’s souls story-

There is a yellow camper van parked in a garage. Hand painted daisies pepper it’s bodywork. A Father & son team fix it together- & the mum watches their bond grow with love in her eyes.

The van has seen the family through countless holidays, break ups, make ups, marriage & the birth of their children. It has been built, taken apart & re built- it has seen life & it has seen death. Every scratch & dent has a story to tell, laughter to give, love to share.

It’s a project van that is now gathering dust underneath a dirty sheet. it will be scrapped. Its stories will be forgotten; never to be shared again.

There is a big raindrop that streaks, strong & fast across the window-as if winning a race, & I imagine the rain drops soul story-

There is a pair of running shoes in a closet, next to them are medals, sitting snug inside a shoe box of tissue paper & velvet cushions.

The shoes are what he wore when he won his first national race. They were used for running, winning, racing, and once when he was desperate-hiking... but always loving

Those soles touched the dirt tracks & hot tarmac of countless racing tracks, & they carried the man to victory.

He’s humble when he wins, a shy smile & a wave for the camera, medals hanging heavy around his tanned neck. He’s been training since he was 8- twice a day-& he loves it-it’s his life long passion.

But then he was pushed.. he fell: he can’t run anymore. His lifes passion-gone-changed - In a matter of seconds.

Sometimes he sees his shoes & puts them on, turning his feet this way & that, admiring the comfortable reliable feel of them, telling himself he will move forward...

But Then nostalgia wins & he takes out his medals, & polishes them, gazing at the shiny reflection in the medal, at the stressed face of the stranger, now staring back at him. He imagines what could have been if he could still race, the dreams dashed, & his eyes cloud with memories & hope for a life no longer possible, and he weeps.

3 weeks later his body lies in a mass grave, labelled for females - his beloved shoes will never be worn again, his medals collect dust, his story -his memories - his identity - lost and forgotten.

There is a rain drop that seems to spin around in circles, up & down & around & round as if caught by the wind. I smile at its energy & imagine it’s souls story-

There is a toy rag doll, laying alone on a child’s bed. The doll is worn & faded with age, cotton smile picked, one button eye missing, slightly scruffy hair & tattered clothes but the girl loves the doll endlessly. the doll has been on so many adventures; flying to the moon, diving the ocean, racing down waterfalls. The doll is a life long friend-with the girl in her crib as a baby, in her bag on her first day of school, sat in her bike basket the first day she took off her stabilisers, with her at church, with her food shopping & everywhere else that the girl went, the doll followed. She was with her the night it all happened... & Now the doll sits, wet, filthy & unused, taped to the front of a tiny grave stone.

She’ll never play or love again. But like everyone else, the girl will be loved-forever.

My vision blurs with tears as thoughts linger, & I hear the latest death toll numbers, the pleas for support aid for those so desperate in a world they never deserved to suffer from...

I watch the raindrops streak & I flashback to lying in a resus bed in A&E whilst I was dy1ng from bilateral pneumonia Cov1d. I imagine the times I fought for my life, for my humanity. I remember the times I lay on the floor, broken from abu5e, tears streak hot & fast as I think of the fact that I’m only alive because I had access to beds, isolation rooms & breathing equipment with people who cared enough to humanise me and let me survive, even though I was a mere stranger - a lost soul, a single raindrop flying among the howling winds of the storm - & that thought is terrifying & traumatising.

I imagine the lives lost, where I survived & I feel guilt & so I vow to do everything I safely realistically can to protect my loved ones & strangers from the unspeakable tragedies..

We are in a period of time when numbers will become numbing in their repetition.

We can’t connect to numbers.

We connect to their stories.

even something as a inconsequential as a raindrop, can contribute to a flood, or a rainbow; the more power we give ourselves in humanising the most inhumane of inanimate objects or phenomena's, helps us humanise those who are alive and still breathing. The howls of nature calling out to us, shouldn't be the only cries and tears we respond to. Our world, our people, are crying out for help, and its times we stopped the divide, and started humanising each other; because if they haven't already, those who wish to cause harm and dehumanise us, will - no matter who you are or your back ground - pretty soon to the ones in power, we will all be as important as a single raindrop in a flood of toxic justification. lets not be a flood, that continues to let terrifying storms win by justifying toxicity and abu53, let us contribute to the rainbow, and the upcoming sunshine - let us be the raindrops that grace a dehydrated desert. let us thrive, and survive together.

So let us humanise the strangers we see- imagine their lives, their hardship, their dreams & goals. Their favourite place, their struggles their grief. Imagine their stories- & let it empower you to do what you can to save lives x

peace friends x


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