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Rain Rhythm
Rain Rhythm

Rain Rhythm


When I think back when I was 14, the first thing that comes to my mind is burgers. I really liked eating cheeseburgers on weekends with my best friend, Ethan. We usually went to the nearest, small restaurant and bought two cans of coke, a dish of potato chips, and two cheeseburgers to eat like a hungry cow. Last time when I went to the restaurant for the fast food, Ethan pulled out his smart phone and took some pictures of the food at the table.

"This is insane," he said.

"What's wrong?" I whispered.

"Put that burger down and see."

Ethan showed me a picture of cockroach, and underneath it was his food. I was so shocked that I almost threw up. My cheeseburger fell flat on the floor from my hand. My best friend, with a reddened face, stood up and declared.

"I am suing this restaurant!"

All the heads pointed at us. I pulled his sleeve to let him sit down.

"No, Ethan, let's first talk this through quietly with the owner. What if this was just a mistake, and we are hurting others' feelings by accident?" I clamed him down.

"You know what this means!?" Ethan continued, "We have been eating trash in this trash restaurant! not listening! I am suing him."

At last, we quietly told the cook, Kelly, what just happened, and her eyes widened at the unbelievable situation. She bowed at us and mummbled an apology. The cook did not seem to be a bad person. She wore a tidy uniform of red, checked shirt and a black apron. She had listening aids in her ears, and although she seemed to be 17 like us do, her hands were full of scars and were very dry as if she had been working hard. Ethan softened his voice.

"...I don't want to see bugs in my food again, ever ever again. If this happens again, you will not get away with it. Next time. You. Police. Got it?" He said.

I sighed. Ethan told me that he was a bit dizzy.

We secretly got compensated by the owner without making the matter worse, but the rumors kept on spreading because Ethan said "I am suing this restaurant!" so loud that the customers on the other side of the room heard it, too. The restaurant quickly lost its

reputation and went bankrupt. It became abandoned.

On a rainy Saturday morning, when I was still watching TV on my sofa, I heard that someone died in the restaurantfrom the news. The victim intaked large amounts of pesticides and was found barely alive in a cabinet. She was carried to the hospital, and after a day of the symptoms getting better, she slept forever. I heard the details. The victim was 18-years-old female and an orphan who was seeking for a job in our town.

"Faster! Faster!" Cross-armed, the owner stoutly shouted.

Kelly could not follow the owner's directions as clearly and quickly as he wanted. She could not hear them well. And, she was busy thinking about her cousin at home.

She bumped on the edge of a table and tripped. Crash! All the dishes were scattered and shattered. A nearby customer shrieked. Kelly was kneeling down at the mess. It took her serval seconds to digest the situation. Her confusion surged up to the extent that it felt like a cascade, a cold torrent of numbness.

"Alright, you're not going to serve. Don't touch'em. Just leave them there," said the owner and slammed his office door.

Warm, red liquid was dripping down her hand, falling into the hard, marvel floor like red spider lilies blooming on a sheet of snow. She sniffed, and the tears filled the eyes, and the ache became conspicuous. She seemed like a kidalone in Antarctica with her ill cousin who cannot move by his own will. Suddenly, a soft hand grabbed her wrist.

Through her tears, she saw a man carefully inspecting her injury on the palm. His hair was well organized, and he was wearing a black suit. On his back was a small case. The man washed the palm with water and placed a white cloth on it. The bleeding stopped, but her heart was restless. She was not sure why her heart was restless.

"Sir, we could be late for the orchestra," said an old man behind him.

The man with the black suite recommended Kelly to see a doctor to stitch the wound. She rushed to the entrance before the man's exit for his name. Having heard the name, she returned to her job. Little did she noticed her emotions improved.

After a hard work in the restaurant, Kelly walked back to her single-roomed house. It was a gloomy, foggy midnight.She strolled along the shore which was both calm and zest, and the turbid ocean displayed a tranquil rhythm that soothed the pedestrians going by. She saw few stars glistening, her skin being under the beam of majestic streetlights. How beautiful a day to die! Her cousin, Mark, was in the house. He was limply lying on the bed in a dark room. A small lamp was buzzing next to him. She noticed an odour.

"Why are you so late?" Asked her cousin a bit loudly.

"I found a job," replied Kelly.

"Oh… how was it?"

Kelly dangled a plastic bag.

"Check this out. I brought some lasagna: your favorite food."



"You don't feel well."

Kelly gazed at the wooden patterns on the floor. A wind bell from outside rang. Soon, she helped her cousin up from the bed. His back was damp from sweat. He could not move by himself.

"Jeez, what happed to your hand?" said her cousin.

“I just slipped and fall.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine.”

Kelly hugged her brother. For a while, they both felt warmer. Without a word, they understood each other. Water traveled down the cheeks to the white blanket. The unhealed hand soaked the bandage by red. The wind bell rang again, and a train swooshed across the trail. A picture of Kelly's parents were on the drawer. In the picture, they were smiling.

I went to the restaurant, climbed up to a rooftop nearby, and gazed at the rainy scenery for a while. No one knows what happened to the poor restaurant worker. My phone rang.

Author Notes: The point of view in this story is quite experimental. Please feel free to give feedbacks

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5 Aug, 2022
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5 mins
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