Rain - A short story
Her brain splattered across the windshield from the force of the impact, shards of wet glass spraying in every direction. It wasnât the best way to die, but in the fraction of a second of life she still had it didnât seem all that important.
The momentary fear and despair drowned in an ocean of relief - all dams opened, all her burdens draining away like a flood. Itâs over.
She tried to close her eyes and rest, but they didnât move. Nothing did. She still saw the headlights of the truck barreling into her, the dark winter night. Everything in its place, a catastrophe in motion caught at the perfect time.
A single drop of water was suspended right before her eye, reflecting and distorting the scene around her.
She considered the possibility that this was merely a nightmare, and immediately she was there, in her bed, waking up on the morning of her last day. Her cat was at the foot of her bed, frozen still in the middle of a silent yawn.
Then she was back in the car, watching through the shattered glass as the hood crumpled from the collision. There was no transition, no continuity between the two moments. She was here, and there, and anywhen she thought of.
She looked at her last meal, noodles cooked hastily with too much salt because she was running late. She could smell the warm, comforting aroma.
She saw the bright hospital lights, feeling her own cries ragged in her throat moments after her birth.
She felt her eyes widen in shock as the truckâs tires slipped on the wet road in front of her.
She listened to the first time she heard her favorite song, and every time she heard it since, all at once.
Time felt like a flat disk she was standing on, and the difference between any beginning or end was simply her perspective.
It wasnât what she expected when she heard âlife flashing before your eyesâ. There was no urgency, no pressure or chaos, no decades-long story to follow. Just a tapestry of interconnected moments, the most mundane equally as vivid as the most unique or significant.
She saw every single time she sat on the toilet, scrolling on her phone, and every time she yelled at someone she loved.
She felt every step she ever took.
The idea that she could conclude whether her life was a âgoodâ or âbadâ one, pass any judgement at this last chance beyond eternity, was absurd. She looked at every blade of grass she has ever seen, at the first time she gasped in awe while looking at the sunset, and at every sunset she ignored ever since.
Maybe there was more she could have done if she lived, but seeing it all together now, it was enough. She was ready to move on.
She waited.
The headlights continued to blind her, eyes squinting and grip uncomfortably tight on the wheel. Nothing was happening. Time remained as it was, as if there was still something she needed to see, or remember.
She went through every memory, from start to finish, and it was both instant and took longer than she could comprehend. There was no fatigue in this, and no euphoria - it wasnât a chore or a privilege.
It was simply her life. Why wasnât it ending?
She tried to push forward, seeing what happens after the moment of the accident, but there was nowhere left to go. No future to get to. So instead, she went back.
Back to her first memory of her parents, exhausted but smiling happily at her.
Back into the hospital bed, the background murmur of nurses and bright lights.
Back into the womb, the comforting warmth.
Back into herself, gestating, writhing, growing.
On and on until it felt like something cracked, broke, or slipped away from her.
Then there were only stars. An endless sky with barely any darkness or gaps between the shimmering lights. The view turned, spun around, stars circling and moving faster and faster, drawing closer together - colliding, imploding, forming and dissipating.
Gone too far back, too far to ever return. It wasnât even clear who was supposed to return, or where.
The universe was collapsing inward at a leisurely pace. It was getting warmer, a dense wall of light enveloping from every direction, until everything came crashing down into the center.
A single, bubbling mass of energy and matter. Gestating, writhing, shrinking into an indistinct core, empty and infinite.
Until all that remained was a single drop, drifting through nothingness.
Drifting forever, timeless.
The perspective shifted, and the drop splattered onto it, everything exploding into motion once again.




















