JX Valentine
Your aquatic overlord
- 3,277
- Posts
- 20
- Years
- Harassing Bill
- Seen Aug 19, 2020
Author's Notes: Best read aloud.
Plip. Plip, plip. Four plips. Five. Six. Seven.
I lean my forehead against the window. The pane is cold and wet, condensation dripping down on the inside as a result of a temperature difference on the outside. It's raining.
Rain distracts me. Usually, I can focus on things for hours, but when it rains, I look out the window. I can't help it. There are too many changes. Changes in the air, changes in color, changes in smell. I can tell. I don't tell many people (not that they never notice that I'm distracted), but I can tell.
The smell of rain overpowers the sterile scent of the hallway. Rain smells like metal. It's cold, metallic, gray, somber, inclement, boreal, frigid, bitter, ashen, freezing, drab, chilly, clouded, algid, neutral, glacial, nippy, silvery, bleak, shaded, piercing, leaden, harsh. Sunlight smells heavy and fragrant, and snow smells like mint. Rain smells like something caught between the two, stuck in both a sea of humidity and a bitter chill. No one else thinks that rain smells like metal and that it smells so different from sun and snow. I do, and they know.
Rain smells metallic. It tastes metallic. It feels, after a few minutes, clammy and metallic. It's like licking a knife. Not the edge. The flat sides.
They don't know I don't like the rain. I don't like it. It's too cold, too much change too soon. Snow comes when it's cold. It's not much of a change. Sunlight comes inevitably every day. Rain comes rolling in from the horizon. It covers the sky with thick, black clouds. A clap of thunder and a flash of lightning – those are your only warnings, and sometimes, those don't even come. Rain happens, punctuating long periods of hot sunlight. It plunges the air into cold, clammy weight.
I can feel the pressure. I can smell the rain, feel it, taste it in the air before I see it or hear it. They (the people who take care of me – who have always taken care of me) know I can, but I never told them. They can tell I know when they see me, when I get distracted just before I change.
It happens. My body shifts slightly, adjusting to the cold as the condensation drips down the window pain. Pane. Flat sheet of glass separating the outside from the inside, not the physical sensation of displeasure. Pane.
One of my hoods go up. I didn't even mean to let it go up, but it's an unconscious reaction, like breathing. It happens. I see through blue translucence. It's shaped like an egg and feels like gel inside. Cold gel. Elastic. Water. It's raining, and I'm rain. We are each other. We change so quickly, without warning.
My change catches the attention of one of the others, but after that brief few seconds of observation, he opts to mostly consider it a mundane occurrence. It is, to him, what potentially could be a convenience, had I been anyone else.
Instead, he stops in the hall and frowns. His lingering allows another figure in a white lab coat to approach him. He motions to me, assuming I can't see him, even in the reflection in the window.
"It's been raining for almost fifteen minutes, and only now did his ability kick in. What do you make of it?"
The other figure, female with blue eyes like the sky, shrugs. "It could simply be a result of being isolated from outdoor conditions."
The first shakes his head. "It's not the first time he hesitated for so long when it rains. He doesn't seem to have any troubles with changing according to his predictions for bright sunlight, hail, or snow, either. It's rain."
"Only rain?"
"Only rain."
In the ensuing pause, I stare at their reflections, superimposed over the wet darkness outside. They assume I can't understand them, that their language is beyond my comprehension. They assume a lot of things about me.
The woman frowns. "I can run one of Castform's DNA samples through the analyzer again. Perhaps there was a flaw in this subject's genetic structure that results in a delay for a particular weather condition."
In the reflection, the man nods and softens the volume of his voice. "Can we resolve this before we attempt the second set of experiments?"
"We have enough time," the woman says. "The government has given us another grant. They don't expect our results for at least another three years."
They move at that point. Their feet clomp against the linoleum of the hallway, but it's not enough to drown out the sound of the rain.
So, they think I don't notice. They notice little things about me. It's their job to notice those little things. They never think about the possibility that I notice the little things about them, but it keeps me from noticing the rain for a little while longer.
Rain. It's raining. It's raining, and it smells cold and metallic.
It's raining outside. I'm rain. Rain is me.
I hate the rain.
Plip. Plip, plip. Four plips. Five. Six. Seven.
I lean my forehead against the window. The pane is cold and wet, condensation dripping down on the inside as a result of a temperature difference on the outside. It's raining.
Rain distracts me. Usually, I can focus on things for hours, but when it rains, I look out the window. I can't help it. There are too many changes. Changes in the air, changes in color, changes in smell. I can tell. I don't tell many people (not that they never notice that I'm distracted), but I can tell.
The smell of rain overpowers the sterile scent of the hallway. Rain smells like metal. It's cold, metallic, gray, somber, inclement, boreal, frigid, bitter, ashen, freezing, drab, chilly, clouded, algid, neutral, glacial, nippy, silvery, bleak, shaded, piercing, leaden, harsh. Sunlight smells heavy and fragrant, and snow smells like mint. Rain smells like something caught between the two, stuck in both a sea of humidity and a bitter chill. No one else thinks that rain smells like metal and that it smells so different from sun and snow. I do, and they know.
Rain smells metallic. It tastes metallic. It feels, after a few minutes, clammy and metallic. It's like licking a knife. Not the edge. The flat sides.
They don't know I don't like the rain. I don't like it. It's too cold, too much change too soon. Snow comes when it's cold. It's not much of a change. Sunlight comes inevitably every day. Rain comes rolling in from the horizon. It covers the sky with thick, black clouds. A clap of thunder and a flash of lightning – those are your only warnings, and sometimes, those don't even come. Rain happens, punctuating long periods of hot sunlight. It plunges the air into cold, clammy weight.
I can feel the pressure. I can smell the rain, feel it, taste it in the air before I see it or hear it. They (the people who take care of me – who have always taken care of me) know I can, but I never told them. They can tell I know when they see me, when I get distracted just before I change.
It happens. My body shifts slightly, adjusting to the cold as the condensation drips down the window pain. Pane. Flat sheet of glass separating the outside from the inside, not the physical sensation of displeasure. Pane.
One of my hoods go up. I didn't even mean to let it go up, but it's an unconscious reaction, like breathing. It happens. I see through blue translucence. It's shaped like an egg and feels like gel inside. Cold gel. Elastic. Water. It's raining, and I'm rain. We are each other. We change so quickly, without warning.
My change catches the attention of one of the others, but after that brief few seconds of observation, he opts to mostly consider it a mundane occurrence. It is, to him, what potentially could be a convenience, had I been anyone else.
Instead, he stops in the hall and frowns. His lingering allows another figure in a white lab coat to approach him. He motions to me, assuming I can't see him, even in the reflection in the window.
"It's been raining for almost fifteen minutes, and only now did his ability kick in. What do you make of it?"
The other figure, female with blue eyes like the sky, shrugs. "It could simply be a result of being isolated from outdoor conditions."
The first shakes his head. "It's not the first time he hesitated for so long when it rains. He doesn't seem to have any troubles with changing according to his predictions for bright sunlight, hail, or snow, either. It's rain."
"Only rain?"
"Only rain."
In the ensuing pause, I stare at their reflections, superimposed over the wet darkness outside. They assume I can't understand them, that their language is beyond my comprehension. They assume a lot of things about me.
The woman frowns. "I can run one of Castform's DNA samples through the analyzer again. Perhaps there was a flaw in this subject's genetic structure that results in a delay for a particular weather condition."
In the reflection, the man nods and softens the volume of his voice. "Can we resolve this before we attempt the second set of experiments?"
"We have enough time," the woman says. "The government has given us another grant. They don't expect our results for at least another three years."
They move at that point. Their feet clomp against the linoleum of the hallway, but it's not enough to drown out the sound of the rain.
So, they think I don't notice. They notice little things about me. It's their job to notice those little things. They never think about the possibility that I notice the little things about them, but it keeps me from noticing the rain for a little while longer.
Rain. It's raining. It's raining, and it smells cold and metallic.
It's raining outside. I'm rain. Rain is me.
I hate the rain.
