Do You Hear It?

Do you hear it? Drip.

I love the sound of rain. Rain poured outside my house. The constant torrent of rain, the constant torrent of sound. Like a white, sheet of noise draped over my ears. Audible, but not loud. As a whole, very clear, but each individual water droplet muddled and blended with the rest. The rain spoke to me, calmed me, and shushed me to sleep.

Can…you hear it? That incessant dripping? Drip, drip, drop.

I huddled in my warm blanket, its soft cotton surrounding me. In one hand, I held a hot cup of chocolate. I sniffed the creamy steam, and took a sip. Sweet, but not overpoweringly so. I stared outside my large window blurred with water. I watched the rain fall in my garden. The dark, blue haze of night covered everything, and my green plants drooped under the weight of water. There was a large hole in my garden that I dug earlier. It filled with dirty mud.

Drip. I know I can hear it. Drop. I wonder, can you smell it?

The rain had long stopped. I still sat there, staring out my window. I felt somewhat cold, and pulled my blanket tighter. I sipped my “hot” chocolate which already lost its warmth. It was my favorite hot chocolate though, and it had a peculiar property of tasting soothing no matter its temperature. The scenery outside changed, but remained similar. The hole filled up completely with water; I should make sure not to fall in later. The constant sound of rain was gone, but water still covered every flower and bush. I opened the window, and a fresh, cool wind blew in, bringing in the smell of a newly cleansed air. The cool air greeted me, and also brought with it a suffocating silence.

This smell… it smells like red. And it still drips.

I leaned back, and stared up at my white, slightly bumpy ceiling. It felt so comfortable to just lay there on my bed. I wanted to stay there forever and forget everything that happened. But I had an obligation. His last wish.

It’s the smell of blood. Drip.


Feel free to reply. But I won't read cuz I'm shy. Unless it's haiku.

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