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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. Raining by Ron Oommen Drip! Drip! Drip! Drip! The drops were smacking onto the cold stone floor with monotonous regularity, echoing sonorously in the stillness of the room. She finally woke, and lay still in the downy bed, watching the falling drops as they formed a puddle on the floor. The raindrop drumbeat began to pound in her a brain and slowly lulled her off to sleep again. Did she sleep? The room was gone and she was standing on a narrow path that stood delicately drenched in the soft, morning drizzle. She walked, but seemed not to feel the ground beneath her feet. On and on it went, till it came to the foot of a gently sloping hill, and she saw, at the top, the mango and jackfruit trees that formed a barrier about the haughty, white house that rose among the leaves, kissed by the morning rain. The sunlight pepped through, just enough for a misty rainbow that encircled the whole like a picturesque halo. It was unearthly, almost celestial. She moved faster now, almost gliding up the hill. Nearer and nearer to the stately old mansion she came, not feeling the fragile drops that carpeted her hair and shoulders. She felt very small as she approached the great, teak front door and slowly, as in a trance, she floated up the steps onto the verandah of the bungalow. As she drew up, the massive door creaked on its hinges, as it swung slowly open. The first thing she saw was the large peacock-feather fan, its old splendour somewhat dimmed. She remembered. Her father's golden handshake from his British superintendent and now, her father himself she saw, coming slowly into the main hall, where she stood! Dignified and impassive as ever, but did a frown crease his brow? His eyes pierced as they gazed silently right through her. She wanted to speak but her tongue had no life in it. She watched, transfixed, as he turned away and strode majestically into the next room, and vanished. Now she was walking on. A long-forgotten fragrance seemed to fill the air and tickle her nostrils: the aroma of hot, crisp pancakes. She found herself suddenly at the kitchen door and saw her mother, squatting before a large, steaming griddle; the pungent aroma overwhelmed her. She glided, ever so slowly, towards her mother who raised her head from the rising steam. The old lady's eyes seemed to fill with bright-red tears as she stared mournfully at her daughter's face.The girl wanted to cry out but she had forgotten how. Her mother's eyes were now deep, dark pools, overflowing and red rivulets meandered down her cheeks. The girl's heart writhed within herself as she reached out and touched her mother's face. The chilling wetness on her fingers snapped into her mind and she opened her eyes to see her hand lying in the icy puddle beside her bed. The rain had stopped but it was still dark outside. The quietness of the night was broken only by the snoring that she could feel behind her back. The rain had stopped but there was a warm puddle forming on the floor and it was growing larger. Drip! Drip! Drip! Drip! The End
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