The woman slow-danced alone in her living room of her small country house. She rocked slowly to the music: one hand rested on the opposite shoulder; the other rested on the opposite hip. Her white gown flowed around her legs, sweeping about her ankles. She could not remember the name of the song playing. It was part of a playlist she had forgotten about. Orphan mp3s with neither name nor lineage on her iPod. Songs from another life.
The woman glanced at the windows as thunder sounded through the pouring rain. The damnable rain that had ruined her plans for the night. The night of the full moon. All week she had been planning to celebrate the full moon. A ritual to celebrate the goddess. Now there was no way she could. Oh, she had lit a few candles and performed part of the ritual inside but it hadn’t been the same as standing in the open under the full moon.
Another thunder crash and her eyes slid across a mirror on the way to the window. She frowned at her image and averted her eyes. Mirrors showed a truth she would rather forget, that she had hoped to forget for several hours. She wasn’t the woman she wanted to be. She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t “a woman.” She fought back against those thoughts, stared straight into the mirror and said aloud, “I am a woman. I am beautiful. I will be the woman I was born to be; not anyone else’s idea of a woman.”
Lightning flashed through the windows lighting up the room and thunder shook the walls. ‘That was a close one,’ she thought. Had it hit the tree outside? She opened the front door and looked into the dark, wet night. Drops of rain carried on a gust of wind splattered against her skin. Cool, damp, and somehow inviting. Something stirred within her. A half-forgotten memory from a simpler time in her life.
The woman felt something. A presence. She took a step out of the door onto the pathway that led to her driveway. Another gust of wind and more rain drops on her skin. She stepped out of her shoes and gently pulled the door closed. The door clicked shut behind her; she closed her eyes and walked, arms outstretched, into the rain. Drops fell against her skin; each impact a caress, a kiss, a loving touch. She walked farther into the cool, damp, dark night.
The grass was a soft, spongy mass beneath her feet. It squished and squashed with each step. She smiled at the sound. Rain soaked her dress and it clung to her body. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. She felt the presence again. It was around her, in her, flowing through her, embracing her. “Here I am,“ it seemed to say. “Silly girl, I am not the moon. I am here.”
The woman smiled then laughed, remembering her earlier despair at the rain. She splashed in puddles. Twirled in circles. Sang with the thunder. And loved the rain with all her heart.
The woman danced with the Goddess in the rain.
Author’s note: This is a very short story I wrote for a flash fiction contest that didn’t come to fruition. It was written in the time it took me to watch G-Force(yes I am talking about the the guinea pig spy movie) and edited over the next few days.
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