The Lord God Made Them All

A faint earthy smell of fresh petrichor lingered through the air like a magical serenade. Coal black clouds boogied across the sky, opening up so gently to pour beads of mellow raindrops which soon beat and bickered on the clean sunshade. Chelsea rested her elbows on the window-stool and cupped her chin in her hands, staring out into the night. Drawing a heart over the condensed droplets of the glass window, she pulled up the casement, allowing the rain to caress her delicate cerise palms. She then folded her hands, and brushed her elbows, strapping her satin robe a bit tighter as her soft flaxen hair horripilated like a million needles from her silken skin. Colourful bright umbrellas started blooming quickly down the street like azaleas at the crack of dawn.

“Kwarh,” her little boy mumbled in his sleep. She turned and sat on his bed, stroking his flushed pink cheeks. Pulling the edge of the bedsheet a bit up, she kissed his warm forehead and smiled as she switched off the lights and sneaked out of the room, not making the slightest noise. She walked through a series of white rooms with little furniture and went downstairs, her hand running smoothly on the varnished wooden railing. A big television screen welcomed her as she went into the main hall, moving her hands around her neck to keep warmth. Winston sat slouching on the dove couch, dressed in checked blue pyjamas which smelled of new fabric. A dark woman in her late forties, her hair arranged in an old-fashioned style on top of her head stared out of the 40 inch television. She had a perfect looking face with big brown eyes and natural black hair that was just beginning to grey. Chelsea brought her arms forward and looped them around his shoulders, allowing his head to nestle under her chin.

“My dear comrades, we were all born equally…” the Congresswoman’s strong voice said from the speakers. Her fringe of hair, cut straight across the forehead danced as she talked suiting her intelligent and sensitive face.

“That woman’s definitely winning the elections. Just too good at canvassing,” Winston tilted his head up, his blue eyes staring at the upside-down face of his wife. Her sandy blonde lines of thick eyebrows which arched down at the ends, twitched into a frown.

“Come on, what’s wrong with her? She’s a great leader!” Chelsea said, pinching his hand slightly. He chuckled, switching off the television set and turned towards his wife, taking her cheeks in his hands.

“I know you’re going to vote for her,” he said with a little rise in the corner of his mouth, a stocky sweet smirk. She scratched her head a little and rolled her eyes, turning towards the direction of the glass window where spurts of rainwater flowed down like the cascades of Niagara. Winston breathed in a little and stroked her anomalously youthful cheeks.

“Nice weather, huh?” he said, pushing a chunk of hair behind her ear. She smiled, revealing her fine, pointy teeth.

“I hope this never ends,” she said to her husband.

“Me too,” he whispered with a strange light in his bright blue eyes. He kissed her forehead and pulled her close to snuggle against his chest.

The rain’s white noise sounded like a heavenly timpani. Leaves and branches of elm trees brushed in discreet whisperings. Baby birds ensconced close to their mother’s breast. And from a distance a nocturnal observer watched them all in tranquil silence.

***

Strong, puissant winds swept the city. Angry obsidian clouds spat out gouts of rain. Gummed up rheumy eyes shut tight with every single cry of hers. He brushed back with his calloused hands the dark coily hair which curled around on her little forehead. Drenched all over and shivering every second, the rainwater stripped his shrivelled body to the bone. Jeremiah wrapped her in a piece of rag and held her close within his tattered coat trying his best to keep her warm. He shook her body slowly, sending her to a gentle slumber when bold colossal electric streaks of a bright forked lightning tore the sky into four parts, vaunting its mighty prowess, paving way for a violent thunder which rumbled and roared conjuring a new batch of battering blood curdling rains.

The little girl fulminated again into a series of unceasing cries as the tent roof toppled and fell to one side. Ada crawled slowly beside him, taking the child from his arms.

“Tis alright, sweetie, tis alright. Look a’ Mama! Look a’ Mama!” She tried comforting the adamant kid. Her eyes fluttered as she put one hand under her belly, feeling the boy who kicked from inside. She tore a strip of cloth from her gown and wrapped it around her baby. Rocking the child in her arms, she sang a rhymeless lullaby kissing her back to sleep.

“Will this ever end?” Jeremiah growled as the downpour increased, dropping down gallons of water-bombs. He put one hand around his wife and held her tight. The tent collapsed a bit more and hit his head. He pushed the polythene sheets a little and stared out at the street. A television set nestled inside a local retail store which sat opposite to their crumpled tent.

“We were all born equally…” The Congresswoman’s voice travelled through the sounds of devilish drums from above and into his ears. Jeremiah chuckled and tilted his head down, shaking it wildly.

“Sweedart,” he said to the little figure on the television. “We ain't born equally. No, we ain't.”

The nocturnal bird hooted from a distant cottonwood tree. It flexed its talons and pressed the bough of its perch and lowered its body a bit down. It then held forth its ankles, pushing the whole body forward and opened its umber wings, hopping into an astute flight with one swift leap. It set off into the buffeting rains and flew through the deep dark ebony skies. Under her lay a bizarre city, festooned with pleasure and pain, life and death.

Two lovers walked under one red parasol on their first date, the girl collecting raindrops in her hand and splattering them onto the boy’s face. A peasant sat smiling inside his little hut, its thatched roof crumbling down over him, thanking the rain, for now his crops would grow well. A basenji stood sniffing at the body of a refugee, struck dead by a lightning; died without a proof, died without a birth or death certificate and no one to care if he was dead or alive. A rich couple fondled each other, enjoying the natural air-conditioner, whilst in the next street a doomed family sat on the asphalt pavement, trying to keep each other warm and alive. An old lady grumbled about her garbs left to hang in the clothesline being doused in the rain. A Congresswoman pushed back the reporters and paparazzi who blocked her way and got into her matt grey Mercedes, smiling to herself that her speech would make the headlines. A weatherman stood on a busy street wearing a raincoat and was reporting into the camera in front of him that the rains were expected to last not more than an hour, whilst in the background a wealthy merchant cavilled over his business losses, not realising how lucky and blessed he was.

The bird went on soaring upwards and jiggled its body altogether, whirring its wings, shaking off the water droplets from its feathers. Funny, is it not? How many dimensions this world can behold.