The Rain Falls Slowly

Another story in the girl series... It's officially every Friday on this blog.
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The girl cried. She cried for the parents who had lost their children. She cried for the children who were affected by natural disasters. The girl cried tears for the stray dogs. She cried for the cancer patients. Most of all, she cried for herself.

She cried. Tears streamed down her face, totally uncontrollable. Her breath, irregular, like a toy train off track, and her eyes, puffy, like blown up balloons. The girl did not know herself. The sadness of not knowing. The utter sadness.

More so hopelessness than sadness. The hopelessness she felt when she stared at forms and a myriad of applications with deeply profound questions and impossibly short world count requirements. The hopelessness that she felt when she reflected back on her life, then at the lives of her classmates. The hopelessness that she felt when she thought about her place in the world. The hopelessness that she felt when she saw herself.

Tears went down, through the smooth ducts, down the hill, turning a little, then making a jump for the unknown. The girl placed her hands on her ears, in an effort to shut out the noise that was silence. Big girls don't cry, she told herself. The tears came down harder.

That was it. She wasn't really a big girl, despite her years. Yes, her age was in the double digits, but it was only her first decade at having an age in the double digits. Not even a decade.

But what did she know? Her head was filled with equations, PV=NRT, War of 1812 and French-Indian War facts, p2+q2=1, and other knowledge but what did she know about life? So sparingly little. It was sad that most of her life was spent in school, yet she had no idea how the world was, nor what life, her life, was really about.

If the her universe had a center that was her, this world was dearly lost. Who was the girl anyway? As a person? Ideals? Driving force? Motivation? Dreams? Wishes? Nightmares? Nothing could be summed up in a word, sentence, not even an essay. Not even a book, really. It was a giant changing and swirling mystery waiting to be solved, only to change courses when the verdict was close.

The girl took a breath. A deep breath. Then she tackled the giant mystery that was herself.

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For an archive of the girl series, you can go here.

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Maira Gall