Rainbow

Rains, especially downpours with scream-like thunders and sharp-like-knife lightnings, for me, are bad omens. That’s why when I saw the bright cloud shifts from blue to violet to black, my hands started shaking, my heartbeats began racing.

I have no beautiful memory with wet season, I only have the stark opposite.

A catastrophic over-300-kph typhoon killed my entire, whole family.

No one’s left but me.

Some say I am lucky.

I beg to disagree.

It took five long years before my brain recuperated. Even quiet showers used to make me scream for hours. I was wrecked, drowned by the strong storm left inside me.

Now, as I hold her for the first time, mute waters trickle down my face in sync to the sharp flashes and loud kabooms outside.

“Congratulations, Sir. Do you have a name in mind?” the doctor asked.

My tear-stained face painted a shy smile.

“Yes… Rainbow.”

Word count: 150

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: A Mixed Bag

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In response to Sunday Photo Fiction for March 13, 2016.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.

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