There lies a pool, a lake of ignorance. Above shines understanding, acceptance, and knowledge. The sun. It beams down, it’s rays cast directly on the lake, it’s rays concentrated and focused. Slowly, the lake starts to bake, drying up to a crisp. The vapor rises, not wanted to be enlightened but it is forced, suck like a beam of a flying saucer, or a supermassive black hole. The vapor rises, still composed of water droplets, but in a foreign form. They are in a transitive state, rising up to be lit up in the sky, to learn the secrets of the sun. The vapor condense, collectively forming the puffy white cloud of high school. It builds up, it forms as one giant being in the sky. The water droplets start to believe they are different than all others.
“WE’re rain. THEY’re snow.” “WE’re sleet. THEY’re hail.”
As the divisiveness rages, the water droplets clash. Fight after fight, the droplets become bitter. The once cottony, powder cloud desaturates, it ages as the years pass. All the tension over all the years becomes too much for the school to contain. It is becoming heavy, arduous and cumbersome. Electrical charges zip through the being, a storm brews into what is commonly known as ‘the perfect storm’. All the water droplets are eager to get out, to erupt, to escape the oppressive cloud. They know it is almost time to fall. They think about what they want to be when they finally do fall. You see, these droplets see themselves as different entities, different types of moisture, some wetter than others. Many know what they want to do when they hit the bottom, but some plan to just go with the wind. Suddenly, maybe even sooner than expected, the cloud parts. Some are not ready to be released, but they have no choice in the matter: the only direction they can fall is down. Down to the ground. Before they know it, they are already there. They have reached their destination they have so long dreamed of while still in the cloud of education. Some droplets fall back into the lake of ignorance. Some join the ocean, the worldwide sea, instead. Some dig into the soil, nurturing the roots of successful vegitation. Most flood the streets, following others to their deaths. They gush like one anonymous blog, for they fear to detatch themselves from their cliques they formed up in the cloud. Some marry other droplets, joining together in union, as they create even smaller droplets on their way down the street. The unfortunate ones completely miss their targets, running down the side of the car window. However, in the end, it does not matter where they end up. They all end up in the same place: the endless, darkness of the sewer drain.
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I’m gonna send a little rain…