It’s been three days then.
Feeling no ventilation, I walk towards the window, tying the curtains into a flower figure and opening the window widely. The cold breeze from the trees, surrounding the school, fought to enter. Within seconds, small droplets of liquid were starting to dance with the wind, until it poured and became rain. I am on my university, today. I don’t know why I need education when I can just be programmed by the fool who made me but knowledge is power, I believe.
As I stare outside, I began to appreciate on how creative the rain is making. Colourful umbrellas were wide open, the stream near the university were flowing profusely while the fishes swam contrary to the water. Outside, people were half-running covering their heads with different books, on different colours and some were on a romantic state unminding the rain.
My lips curved into a smile.
While some hate the rain, it gave me bloodcurdling positive feeling.
In a blink of an eye everything around started to fade and there’s a regeneration of a new place, something familiar, somewhere I’ve been.
“Swoosh…” the wind blew with puissance making the trees dance as one. A new Nagoya of Aichi Prefecture is being built. It was I think in the 90’s. The highways were wider than before. Infrastructure were starting to rise. But there’s something peculiar. Everyone’s chilling, everyone was in hurry to buy new winter clothes.
The sky turned to black as it cover the attractive scarlet. A girl on the age of 15 is sitting in the middle of their homeroom. The fluorescent and filled the room. She’s sitting with so much tension as she stares into a draft, a drawing of a person overlaid with angular lines.
“No!” she shouted with so much frustration. “This shouldn’t be like this.”
No one else was there at the moment. No one could ever hear her infuriation. One, two, and three. The siren rang signalling that it was already seven in the evening and that means, anyone in the campus premises should start leaving before the round.
Wearing a poker-face she grabbed her things and marched her way out of the building.
Going back to reality, I just wished I could also dance with the rain. I smiled weakly, disappointing myself. My head has a congenital trepidation of water, an imperfection. I love the rain but not everything you love would love you back. Rain is water.
Under the tree is a lady standing covering her heads with a book, caught my attention. In her wrist is a gold chain bracelet. I zoomed my vision, something is engraved. She’s looking around until her gaze went to the building’s window where I’m in.
She met my eyes, quivering.
Ísycha Monaxiá 
When you swing between the almost mystical and reality this makes a nice read. You could try exploring a balance of increasing the mystical. 🙂 🙂
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