Wednesday, 12 June 2013

Man Made of Rain by Michayla Clemens



It is funny how they do not see me.  When I walk past them everyday. I am here and I am there. They smile at me sometimes, sometimes they might even say “Hello”. But the recognition they gave me, the thought that it took will only last a second before that thought has left their mind and they have forgotten ever seeing me at all.

This is not their fault, in fact it is mine. I have so many disguises that they cannot know my face at all. You see...

I am the little girl who sits in the sandbox, making another sandcastle. She has blonde curly hair from which her ringlets grow. A golden crown dons her head from preschool that morning. All around her is her pink frilly skirt her mother made her wear that morning. The hand she uses to pat each hand full of sand onto her work of art is small but neat. A proud mother watches on, drinking a cup of her favourite coffee. She smiles and wonders what her child will be. But this girl does not wonder these things just yet. This child is still me.

I am also the man late for work. He talks on his cellphone and holds his black briefcase. This man wears an expensive grey suit and drives an expensive grey car. There is traffic all around him and he screams and yells and honks his horn. He is angry because every other person on the road is going to work at the same time. He knows this, but yet he still carries on. This man gets into his car and onto the road at the same time every morning, traffic and all but yet he still blames the world for his lack of punctuality. His permanent frown creates old aged wrinkles on his forehead and makes his heart work overtime. An old lady sits in the old blue and white rusty bus which has braked next to his expensive grey car. She watches the young man get red-faced and honk his horn over and over in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. This old lady gives a sigh and wonders if he knows that being angry at the world is only going to make him grow older. Life is just going to pass him by. But this man doesn't know these things yet. This man is still me.

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