Artistic License

September 21, 2009

Side Story- Rain

Filed under: Side Stories — Joana @ 11:46 pm

I wrote this for my Fiction Writing class, where the prompt was to simply think of the word ‘rain’ and write a story around it.  I decided to use it to help develop my characters in the context of this novel, though, so it has to do with Artistic License.  So uh, enjoy!

                I remember not liking the rain when I was younger, but then, neither did my sister.  Well, more specifically, we didn’t like the thunder and lightning.  If there was a storm in the middle of the night, we’d both crawl out of our beds in our shared room and run right over to Mom and Dad’s room, despite anything they may previously have been doing.  Of course this only led to awkward situations when we were older, probably about a year before our younger sister was born.  Yeah, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

                “What made you stop being afraid of lightning, anyway?” my twin sister, Miranda, asked me one day during the summer as we sat there on our house’s front porch and watched the rain fall in sheets.  She was sitting there on the swinging bench, letting her bare feet brush against the polished wood as she pushed herself forward and back, but I just sat on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest.

                “I dunno, I think it was that time we tried to go in and sleep with Mom and Dad during a thunder storm and we walked in on them having sex,” I said.  Miranda laughed at that, letting the bench stop swinging.  She eventually pulled her feet up and folded her legs in front of her.  Miranda and I weren’t identical twins, since it’s kind of impossible for a boy and a girl to be identical twins.  We still looked a lot alike, though.  We both had brown eyes, and black hair, even though hers was to her waist and silky, while mine was just kind of… there.  I didn’t really know what to do with it.  And we even had the same skin tone, not quite black but a darker shade than Caucasian since we were only a few diluted  generations down the line of a Native American family.

                Miranda’s brown eyes were currently watching the rain come down, occasionally going down with a section and then going right back up to do it all again.  Since it was summer, she had dressed in cut-off shorts and a tank-top thinking that it would be appropriate for the weather.  I could tell she was shivering, though, and so I stood up.

                “Why don’t we go inside and start lunch?  Stacey’s probably up by now,” I said.  Miranda smiled and stood up straight on the bench, jumping down and landing gracefully on the porch floor as only a trained dancer probably could.

                “Sounds like a plan!”

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