The Rain Still Poured

Among the masses of black and white, she managed to look demure even in gossamer. These were tough times for her. The rain poured down silencing everything else. With every droplet that splattered across the pebbled path, she knew water pooled in the forgotten well. She needed to know who she had become. She shuffled along the cloistered halls. Times like these were hard to come by here. The leaves soaked themselves in the abrupt rain. The parched earth flaked no more. This was a time that brought relief to many. For her, this meant something else altogether. Devoid of mirrors, devoid of human forms, she had increasingly become uncertain of her existence. A step, another one, just a few more to what would confirm her presence. It would just be a glance. Though, in this world it would be these little things that took away much more from you.

Her bare feet, cold now, the numbness had spread from her heart if there was one. The heart was not one of her concerns anyway. For her, every curve of her face reminded her of each glance she had been subject of, the genuine ones as well as the lustful ones. She saw those no more. Time went by yet it refused to heal. There wasn’t anyone around anymore. In her days of madness, she found respite at the nunnery. Those were the days, when even the most enamoured glances were deemed unsatisfactory by her. Her derision towards others overtook her need for appreciation, momentarily at the least. She damned herself to a world where the only longing glances were towards life in death. Where peace should revel, narcissistic rage still mutinied. It grew and couldn’t be contained in her mind no more. Then one night, Death found them one by one, while she remained untouched. Being the one who kindled the flame gave her time enough to stay clear. She’d seen them run out, no joy in death for them. There were a few who renounced it all, upon reaching the well. It wasn’t enough. If not fire, water took them.

Months went by, years too. Time seemed to have given up on her. She didn’t know if it had to do with all the still masses of black and white. Now all that plagued her mind was each of the glances. Did they ever look at her? All the looks she’d memorized tangled themselves in her mind. She ventured out and found that the habit received not glances of the previous nature. Was it the habit or was she no longer the same? In rage and rejection she tore off the habit and in return she was stoned. The world had changed. Return was all she could do. She longed for a pleasing glance. A mirror would do, but they’d shattered in the fire. So, each step she took frantically towards that forgotten well. So close; she rushed. The rain slithered across the path. It was just a slip or did she trip on those masses of black and white? It was the well that devoured, another one.

She knew what she’d become. Nothing. Not even a reflection. There were just ripples, from the rain that still poured.

The Rain Still Poured