Drip, Drip, Drop

 A short extract I wrote when approached by a friend who had a concept for a book, inspired by his daughter’s childhood fantasies. She has always believed that there is a small man in each and every raindrop, driving and navigating it across the sky….

This idea is still a work in progress and I promise to keep you updated as it develops 🙂 

The chaos and noise of summer died down, fading into the distance as gloomy thunderclouds, pregnant with rainwater, clumsily approach creating a blanket of grey that envelops any last traces of the golden rays that had kissed the skin of sunbathers over the past few months. Creeping flowers and blades of lush grass once standing to attention, saluting the summer star with their acid shades of lime green and fuchsia pink, now withered and anaemic, defeated by stampedes of football players and overenthusiastic daisy-chain makers, crying out for revival. Long gone are the beach-goers, dog walkers and happy campers; all that remains to be seen of their existence are their deformed beer cans tossed to one side and dilapidated sandcastles helplessly holding on to their last turret as the encroaching winds blow away their grandure, carrying with them the faint scent of sun lotion and sticky raspberry sauce dripping down brittle ice cream cones.

As the Winter crept in and the sun retired to it’s hidey-hole beneath the seasonal clouds, preparing to hibernate for the colder months, the heavy rainclouds began to buzz with life and energy as the Drops awoke, ready to be spat out and sent spinning into the air inside their assigned Rainpod. Inside each fluffy cloud lived a billion and one Drops, each with their own personal raindrop which they should navigate through the air to the various  parts of the world which required their assistance. Some sent to scatter over the vegetation that longed to be quenched after the hot period, others sent to shower dusty vehicles caked in grime who’s cleanliness was disregarded by their owners preferring to stay indoors to dodge the plummeting Drops whilst the larger, more experienced Drops   are allocated the fastest, strongest Rainpods and soak deep underground to help maintain the habitats of creatures living below the surface.

One thing which agitates and disgruntles the Drops is the way they are treated scornfully by humans and only ever cursed by gaggles of hair-conscious teenage girls or teams of sports players with their mud-stained kits after slipping on moistened turf. The Drops resent human ignorance towards the beauty of early morning dew on glistening green grass or the Rainpods which get caught like haphazard flying insects in a spiders intricate web, leaving only a bead of rainbow reflections finer than any string of pearls. Nor do they feel human beings truly appreciate the beauty of the blossoming plants that they feed which decorate an otherwise dismal place to live or that comforting sound of rain outside as they’re curled up in a warm nest watching each Drop hurl itself through the sky and land with a thud against their window, providing endless amusement as they slide from top to bottom in a hasty race with one another.

Marvin was one child who the Drops felt had become particularly ungrateful towards their hardwork as he had grown older, started school and stopped spending lazy days wading in his wellington boots through rippling puddles. As summer became a distant memory, Marvin spend more and more time sat at his window looking out over his garden with a downturned mouth, resting his chin on his knuckles and releasing nothing but the occasional sigh. “It’s the Winter blues” many of the Drops had heard when skimming past contorted faces battling through the sheets of rainfall but this year, it had been decided, was a year for change and time to put the beauty back in wet weather and Marvin Rooney was where they were going to begin this quest.

The days went by as the Drops emerged from their , swarming from each and every cosy corner of each and every clumsy cloud, frantically gossiping about the long hot summer spent apart. As September came to a close and the Drops completed their test drives, successfully passing their Rainpod MOTs and leaving the humans down below fairly content with just a light scattering of showers, plans to transform Marvin’s miserable disposition were well underway.  The early hours of the first Monday in October came around quickly and the  Drops collected in their millions, bringing the silvery sky to buzzing life as they mounted their newly shined Rainpods, secured the clasps on their protective helmets and returning the enthusiastic waves of the little Droplets who had come to send them off on their rainy way. This was the big day, the departure that had been planned so intricately since the previous Spring time. After hours and hours of debating routes and who should do what, where and why, the Drops had come to the unanimous conclusion that they would take a North Western approach towards the village of Furwall where Marvin lives and goes to school and soak the little town for as long as it took to change their dismal minds.

With their Sky Navs set to target Furwall, the Drops assembled in rows and rows of gleaming Rainpods. As the first whistle sounded, silencing the crowds hollering their “Whoops!” of encouragement, the Drops went cascading by the hundreds bouncing off any obstacle that may have unknowingly been in their path, navigating and steering their way to Furwall battling the aggressive winds that had also chosen to set off on their ventures this early October morning. The more delicate, young Drops were sent off first to lay down a carpet of glistening jewels over the lawns of the unsuspecting inhabitants of  Furwall whilst the older, more powerful Drops followed, hot on their heels, to crash against windows hoping to rouse sound sleepers into a sense of consciousness in which angry curtain twitching could be transformed to a feeling of awe as they look out over their diamond encrusted gardens.

Meanwhile, unbeknown to the Drops, the Bolts had also sparked into life after a long spell of causing no trouble and had cunning plans of their very own. For many preceding decades the Drops and Bolts were known for being arch enemies and up to now the rivalry had shown no sign of retreat. Whilst the Drops only ever wished to be seen in a more beautiful light and to be appreciated more by humans, the Bolts are responsible for inflicting suffering on the world with their abominable powers. Awoken by the jubilation from the clouds where the Drops lived, the Bolts decided it was time to put their miserable schemes into practice and began gathering their troops by the hundreds and thousands. As the whistle had sounded for the Drops to scatter down over Earth, the Bolts too all turned the keys in their Clashtanks, starting up their growling engines, creating a polluted cloud of thick grey smog and a sudden burst of electric light, sending a bolt of lightening down to the ground followed by a ricochetting roll of terrifying thunder. The Bolts were going to flood little Furwall and sweep away everyone in it, drowning the village in their evil torrents and the drippy droppy rain Drops would never be appreciated again….

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