The Journey

Mahrukh Asmat, Pakistan

I – The Rain

The night is still and quiet, apart from the raging rain outside. The thunder screams at my window, ready to break through anytime. It rattles the glass violently, like a mad prisoner trying to break free. I’m hiding from it. It’s too dark outside. Too painful. I have been hiding from it since the moment it started. I pull the curtains over the window, but the lightening manages to seep through. The thunder screams. I cover my ears with my hands. Too loud. Leave me alone. It screams again. Calls my name. Pushes through my skull into my brain. Leave me alone. No pain, no peace. I’ve lost too much. Lost everything. The thunder screams my name. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Forget my name. I need some quiet. I need to think. I cannot live on. The thunder screams. It wants me to set it free. It’s hard to keep it in. The thunder screams. It’s violent, it’s going insane. All the skies in my head are not big enough for it. It wants me to set it free. The thunder screams. Too weak. Leave me alone. My glass cracks. The rain creeps in. Slides down my wall, and fills the floor. It surrounds my bed. Too dark, too painful. It reaches its talons for me. Sharp and bloodied black. It peels off my skin. The thunder screams. It fills my head. I am no longer me. I am not alive. I am not dead. The glass groans and breaks. I scream. The thunder cackles. 

It is finally free.

II – The Sun

I wiped my eyes with my hands. Everything was wet. The rain had stopped and the lightening was gone. There was just a little bit of light outside. It crept in through the broken glass on my window, and spread out against the shredded curtains. The floor was filled with water. It wasn’t black anymore, just plain colorless water. My eyes were tender and misty, and I wanted a closer look at what was beyond my window. So I got off the bed, slowly and carefully dipping my feet into the water all around. It was warm and eased my cold skin. The storm last night left horrible scars on my feet and legs from where the rain scratched at them. But the water soothed them, gently rippling over them as I walked towards my window. The leaves outside were hanging down, residue raindrops at their tips. The trees were still rooted, holding strong to the ground that wasn’t ready to give up on them. The flowers were weaker but still standing. Such delicate creatures resisted and fought the storm, and they lost a petal or two, but they were still alive. I looked up. The sky was a soft blend of blue and purple hues, and in the far, far distance, there was a small orange speck. The sun was shy to come out. But the lightening had assaulted the sky and everything underneath, and the sun could heal us all. I closed my eyes and felt the warm air against my skin. I dared and breathed in deeply. 

The storm had remade me. 

III – The Strength

The cold is just a memory. The sun is shining over everything the rain had tried to devour. It is a soft, beautiful warm, like the feeling you get when you realize that you’ve survived your worst. Everything outside my window looks like it is coming back to life. The water on my floor is almost dry, and my feet feel a little unstable, as if I was learning to walk again. But I do walk. I walk back to my bed and lie down. I look at my ceiling and imagine myself in front of me. I am whole. I am strong. And I can walk on my own. I can walk through anything. I close my eyes. I see a younger version of myself smiling back at me. I see the people I love. I see my dreams. I see my life. 

I am whole. I am strong. The rain will keep visiting me, but every time it comes, it will leave me stronger. Because I’ve learned not to doubt my strength. The rain will come and go, but my strength will always be here, inside me. I have everything it takes to overcome the thunder and its screams. I have everything and more. I have my name. It can call my name as many times as it likes. I have everything it takes to face it. Maybe the rain wasn’t trying to drown me. Maybe it wasn’t trying to wreck me. Maybe it was only trying to show me the right way because I was sailing in the wrong direction. And I have everything it takes to make it to the shore.

I am the new storm.

Mahrukh is a 20 year old student of English Literature. She has been published by various anthologies, and has her own WordPress website. Most of her writing focusses on human feelings and life experiences.