The rain poured. The rain thundered and pounded and seeped into everything. The little boy next to me frowned as he looked up at the roiling gray sky.
“It only rains when things are sad.” He mutters to the clouds and I can’t help but laugh.
Things were far from sad. Things couldn’t have been more perfect as I stood on that hill that looked over the edges of the ruined city which was hushed by the end of war. The killings had stopped. The hostages from both gangs were released and the police were finally crawling out of their hiding places.
Me and my band of misunderstood refugees stood as we watched the rain wash away the months of death, peril, and disease that was in that city.
“It only rains when change is needed.” I whisper to the boy as I take his dirt-caked hand into mine.
And we stayed on that hill for a lifetime as the rain cleansed the earth, the air, the people, and the soul.