Story 1 : Love is in the Rain

 Story 1 : Love is in the Rain

Now,standing amidst a torrential wind, she wishes she would have just let Lisa pick her up. That damn ego and pride getting in her way once again. A short, bald man with a round pregnant belly , wearing what is presumably a guard's uniform, interrupts Love's thoughts. He too is squinting as he trudges through the rising blast of wind, carrying an umbrella that clearly serves him no purpose with it's exposed metal frame. "Hello there! Do you need help?", he shouts. 

Love is yet to respond before a strange, sudden compulsion arrives upon her- an immense charge of laughter. There she is, standing soaked in the rain with this round man shouting over a force as brazen as the flimsiness of the wind.

Love had been so stuck in the pectin trap of seriousness from her own life's tragedies, she could not have helped but grow in the comforts of abjection . She felt that these years that had passed had felt dragged on for so long as they were all she had known for the better part of her life. They had unjustly stolen the time Love would have finally been her own custodian,her own helmsman. At the entrance of her twenties, she was robbed of learning life's innocent strife such as earning a payslip to fill your fridge with that of which you will use to cook dinner and leave the dishes of that affair for the next morning. Drills like this and a million others, even ones outside of mundanity, such as finally becoming the woman she had always imagined , who would redeem her childhood that was wasted in isolation and self-pity and suffocation. But no, she had lost both now. She had many a time deeply contemplated the meaning of her life, not her lack of purpose but rather the one she seemed to have been cursed with. Going off the pathetic pattern her life had followed up to this point, she believed a foul destiny was seemingly bestowed upon her. Perhaps, she once thought, I should stop waiting for a better prescription for my being here. Maybe I am just not fortunate enough to be written for anything good- the genius, the saviour, the beautiful, the star- I should save myself some hurt and finally wake up to the truth that someone needs to make those favoured fortunes favourable. That is my purpose, she realized, to be defeated, to be saved, to be pitied and to be out-shined. I am the one who's life is plainly meant to just be fucked up. Then I die and that is the end of the story.