The Fairies... -short story

When it rains the fairies come out.

‘When it rains, the fairies come out…’ She whispered into my ear so it tickled. I had to giggle, even with tears streaming down my flushing cheeks. Her voice was brimming with mischief and cheekiness, and her eyes lit up in the darkness when my grin flared. She could make me feel better just by being her.

The rain continued to trickle dismally down the windowpanes, and the thunder boomed menacingly in the sky, but with her at my side, it just wasn’t as scary anymore, especially with the fairies about. That was our secret, mum and I, one she took to her untimely grave.

The rain was lashing down in an attempt to soak the whole of Harrington on sea. Small rivers were cascading ardently into the gutters either side of the road, and puddles were swelling into small ponds. Karly looked out onto the estranged street, the fairies were out today, surely.

Rain didn’t smell like it used to. Back home it smelt of magic and adventure and a fresh new world. But here it smelt of a damp and depressing urban jungle, mingling with fumes and litter. But it was still rain. It was still the precipitation that Karly so desperately treasured, and it was the first downpour since mum had passed last month. She was going out.

Equipped with wellington boots and a sticky yellow mackintosh, she stepped out of the forlorn looking house. It inexplicably seeped memories of dark times. The street was almost flooding now, and with every step the constant flow of water resisted her further. The water toppled over her boots, no wonder, they were tiny, from 2 years back when she was only 8.  But she carried on labouring forwards, she had to make it up Sunny Hill. It would be dryer there, and she could enjoy the sincere view, the whole village grey and coated in liquid quiet. It was getting harder and harder as the hill steeped and the charging stream became forceful. Karly gritted her teeth and chanted, ‘When it rains the fairies come out…’ her voice hoarse, willing herself to push further into the relentless torrent, but she could feel her legs failing on her no sooner than halfway up the slope, she wasn’t going to make it, she was going to hurt herself… she steadied herself on her hands and knees, it was all she could do to brace herself as the gushing water hit. The water, it was so cold, Karly was shivering so much that she couldn’t control her breathing, let alone call for help. All at once, there was an awful scraping sound, the main gutter had torn, unleashing yet more icy water in Karly’s direction. The wave broke over her frail, yielding body, and with a ghastly effort, she lifted her head to see a brick but half a meter before her, heading for her head.

Her body was laid to rest later that week, next to her mother under fresh earth, her father and brother left numb and anguished. The sun shone averse through a foggy screen, hesitant as the clouds drizzled gently over Harrington church. Flowers adorned the half-way mark on Sunny Hill, a mucky bus pass lay uncovered in the school’s lost property, a few hair clips were left scattered underneath a friends bookcase and a single yellow wellington boot lay in a gutter somewhere on Moorey Lane. This was what Karly left behind. Inevitably all forgotten within 30 turns of the year.

What will you leave?