The rain falls heavily outside, washing the world of its sins. He sits there his fingernails digging into the weather-beaten window pane, his nose pressed against the glass. His warm breath forms indistinct tormented images that melt away under his hot tears .Tears that run in little rivulets down his cheeks and over his chin, dripping onto his hands. Glancing back he sees his father sitting comfortably in his chair reading the newspaper whilst his mother drifts past giving him an empathizing look.

Outdoors puddles are born, muddy and murky, pulling on the strings of his simple heart. There is nothing inside for him, he tells himself. Who wants to read a book when everything that he needs to learn he can experience first hand outside? Who desires to watch TV when nature is giving its greatest show just a few meters away? He longs to taste the raindrops sweet with freedom and feel the icy stabs of the rain, bleeding out all the troubles of an eight year old boy. Grown ups know nothing he decides. Pulling off his shirt and trousers, he sneaks past the kitchen and out the door.

Muddy and wet he creates the only memories he’ll ever remember when he is old. Nothing will ever compare to the sweet release of emotion felt in the pouring rain and the beautiful simplicity of his complicated action.

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