10,000 rainbows

last weekend it started raining as i was leaving the bar to stumble back up the hill alone and try to sleep in my cold empty bed. the clouds spit gently down onto my hooded sweatshirt and slowly soaked through the thighs of my jeans as i walked. my feet began to itch from the moisture of my socks, "the holes in my shoes are finally too big," i thought, "maybe i should stop wearing them." i stopped on the 4th ave. bridge and looked out across the water. in the distance i could see boats bobbing through the hazy mist and the saltyfishyseaweedy smell combined with the 5 whisky sours in my belly made me nauseous. my hand flew to my mouth to push the gag back down. i continued my zig zag journey up the hill. my head lolled back and forth and i sang to myself to not focus on the growing pain in my head.

the rain didn't stop. it started coming in fat drops that poured down your shirt collar and reached into all the spots that no one can reach. not even the rain? always the rain. this rain permeated all things. it soaked in through your welcome mat and drenched your life with those same fat drops. every day it came faster and bigger and more aggressively. "hello! remember this! your hands will never be warm again, your hair will never be dry and your feet will always always always be wrinkly."

the water in the streets ran like miniature rivers down the gutters. it rushed and poured over the asphalt as if it had been there before. he knew where to go, it was just a matter of time really, until it was all apparent to everyone else.

four days ago they sandbagged the streets going into downtown. the water rose so quickly that some of the workers couldn't get away and they floated out into the sound with the salmon and the harbor seals. sandbags. the rain scoffed and poured over the bags, through the bags.

"fuck your sandbags and fuck your town." laughed the rain.

half the town has evacuated, but the loyal few that are left have a determination that they can save it. they can salvage the broken bridge and the toppled capitol building. their rescue boats will find the missing and their exhausted bodies will stay strong and upright and the rain will not win.

it hasn't stopped, by the way. and the workers are slowly resigning to evacuation or death. the hill i trudged up last week is just a memory in banks of former citizens of this godlike town.

tomorrow the town will be empty and the rain will stop and the sky will burst free with 10,000 rainbows.