Fiction Stories

When it Rains, it Pours

***This is purely fiction.***

These are the things I no longer want to remember.


The way the air smells when it rains. It used to be one of my favorite things. Until that day. The day that everything changed.

I woke up with a smile realizing it was pouring. Everyone would be out with rain boots and umbrella and raincoats. When it rains, the whole world adopts a dress code. The whole world, rich or poor, tall or short, smart or dumb, has to choose how to deal with rain. But, as they say,

when it rains, it pours

and that day wasn’t about me analyzing and observing the people around me.

It was about her.

My vivacious, energetic sister. She was my best friend. She knew me inside and out and loved me in a way only a sister can.

White Chocolate. Caramel. Coffee.

My favorite drink.

Coffee drinks are like magic.

You get this steaming hot cup of liquid and suddenly you’re energized. You’re awake. You can function. I went to my favorite coffee shop that morning. I ordered my favorite drink and sipped it in a leisurely way, knowing exactly what the day would hold. Or what I thought it would hold. Now I can never drink that again. I can never go back there.


I can still feel the heat in my hands traveling up my arms and the heat in the liquid traveling down my throat into my belly,

telling me that today would be good.

But coffee can’t really talk. So I guess it’s my fault for believing a beverage.

Her voice shouting hello.

I remember looking up and being surprised. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Her voice filled me with happiness.

To see my sister was a treat. Her voice always sounded like love to me. It sounded like companionship. I can’t explain it except that I knew she loved me no matter what. Her love was conveyed in every syllable she uttered to me. Even the angry ones.

Bright purple.

One of our favorite colors. Something about purple was invigorating. Like wearing the color of royalty conferred some power on us. Like it made us bigger and more confident. The color of her purple big umbrella hitting the pavement is forever seared in my mind. The umbrella bounces as I look on helplessly as my sister's broken body paints both the pavement and the umbrella red.

These are the things I no longer want to remember.

But will never forget.

Today, it is raining and the scent of petrichor fills the air but I don’t care about what color rain boots my neighbor will wear. I can’t comfort myself with a steaming hot cup of coffee. I can’t comfort myself with anything. I no longer feel empowered by the color purple. Because she is gone. I will never hear her voice again.

These are the things I no longer want to remember.

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