As you may or may not know, my goal for the end of November is to finish a short story I’ve been working on. I have, of course, not worked on it at all since the start of the month. The reasons for this are twofold: a) November is the busiest month of the school year, and I have six major projects due at the end of the month or in the first week of December, and b) I started watching Parks and Rec from the beginning, so most of my free time has gone towards that. My bad.
Still, though I doubt I’ll finish by the end of the month, I’d like to work on it more. And what better way to motivate myself than to post my progress on here? So here’s the introduction to the story, I hope you like it! More will come as the story develops.
The are millions and millions upon millions of drop of water in this world. Some are big, some are small. Some are heavy and some are light, some are old and some are young. The only thing that can be said with certainty about all drops of water is that they are unique. Each drop has a story, a story different from that of any other drop.
This is a story about one particular drop of water, a determined and curious drop. He was born on the seventh wisp over North America, a small but comfortable cloud. The cloud was a humble one, full of friendly and kind hearted drops. There was a peculiar neighbourhood in this cloud, one of the wispy tails the spiralled and danced with every breeze. The drops born in this neighbourhood were rumoured to be a queer sort, adventurous and daring, and generally considered to be not quite as respectable as other drops. It was said that all the wheeling about on the wind muddled the heads of the drops who lived there. This neighbourhood was called the Swinging Spiral, and the drop born there on the third day of All Cloud was named Rama.
Rama’s life began the same way most drop’s do: he came into being the same day a drop returned to the sky for the fifth time. Water droplets have a limited life span – the transition from liquid to vapour and then back to solid is a rough one, and each drop can only experience the gaseous phase five time before they die. After a drop’s fifth condensation, its consciousness fades away, and a new drop comes into being.
In this way Rama came to life, in the strange neighbourhood of the Swinging Spiral. The first years of his life passed unremarkably, with Rama learning to speak and going to school like any typical young drop. He made friends, and made enemies. He played sports and read books. He learned to play the tuba. He tried his hand at art but never really got the hang of it.
Once he graduated from school, Rama got a job at a factory that made luxury cloud cars for the lucky drops that could afford them. And so Rama’s life went on, each week seeming to blend into the next in an endless cycle of monotony. Then Rama did something that was not expected of him. The Swinging Spiral part of him lashed out and caused him to something that, while not explicitly forbidden in drop culture, was frowned upon most deeply. He fell in love.