Rain on My Wings, Juliet Rose [best ebook reader .txt] 📗

and watch that scary movie you've been waiting for!" My heart had dropped a thousand feet. Hunter came up beside me.
"I say we take his advice, I could use a scary movie," he said, breaking into a huge smile, "You in?"
My eyes were wide. "Um, you know I'm not really up for it today," I started to walk towards the door, "Maybe another time?" He met my response with a raised eyebrow and half grin.
"Don't tell me you're scared, Miss Riverland," he said jokingly.
"No! No way," my right hand shot up as a pledge of honesty, "I just really need to do this reading for school," I lied.
His face fell, and his grin vanished.
"You sure it can't wait?"
"Immensely sure. I'm sorry," I made a quick dash for the door, and barely made it behind a tree as the rain took over, and I was gone.
That was why I always checked the weather reports, constantly. I had to avoid situations like those at all costs.
Thankfully, the amount of rainfall was not unbearably high in Chamberlain, South Dakota. However, when rain was imminent, my days were often spent at home, or in the woods, waiting for my transformation to take place.
I'd become quite the expert at faking illnesses on rainy school days, and leaving notes for my parents explaining why I wouldn't be there when they came home. I was usually,"At a friend's house, so don't bother waiting up." And they were perfectly okay with that, as long as I told them something.
My parents worked at the local hospital, Dad's a doctor and Mom's a nurse, so they were both usually gone during the day, making my school escape pretty easy.
I hated not telling them though. About my secret. About everything. It was like I could never fully be myself around them, for fear I would reveal a clue, a hint, to my other life. I'd thought about telling them a million times, but could never seem to conjure a way to do it, the right way, that is. It was too risky. I just didn't know how they would react, so I continued to push these thoughts away. For now, they lived in oblivion, completely unaware that their daughter was shoved into another identity whenever rain started to fall.
The worst part came when I realized that I was alone. Never had I found someone like me. Not once had I told somebody this secret. I had exactly zero answers to satisfy my billions of questions. I lived with nobody to share my unthinkable adventures with, or ask much needed advice from.
I had been left to survive in my winged world alone.
Even my friends had deserted me, becoming annoyed by my "seclusiveness" and "tendency to disappear a lot." Of course I couldn't tell them where I went. And I often took the precautions of staying home, just in case the sky decided to open up. Eventually, my constant excuses became irritating, and they left me.
I did, however, have one friend that has remained faithful to me all these years.
Annalise.
Annalise Bush was an aspiring photographer, and writer. Although I had never read her writing, her photographs were simply amazing, and I would expect her other interests to stand the same. We had known each other since fifth grade, when she spilled milk all over my favorite outfit during lunchtime. Yes, I threw quite a tantrum, but somehow that event (and her clumsiness) brought us together, and our friendship has grown stronger ever since. She would be the first person I could tell if I ever had to. She would understand.
I gathered my thoughts from their wandering spree and held them together long enough to glance over at my clock. By now, it was 4:05, and I knew my racing mind would not settle. I had to go somewhere, somewhere I could think in peace.
I quickly jumped out of bed and grabbed my keys, looking for something to keep me warm. It was late August, and the nights were getting colder.
Once I held all my necessities, I quietly snuck out of my bedroom door, closing it behind me with a soft "clank" from the lock. I took the stairs slowly, careful not to disturb the night with their unwarranted screeches.
I stepped outside, greeted by an uncomfortable, lifeless night. I climbed into my car with utmost urgency, shutting the door in one fluid motion. My whole body shivered as I cranked up the heat to its full strength.
Where was I going?
I hadn't the faintest idea... but I backed my car out of the driveway like I knew exactly the place.
Everything seemed frozen, acting as a foil to my chaotic thoughts. I looked around and pictured myself in a museum, still images of long ago undisturbed through time.
It was interesting. The only other view I had seen of the world at this time was from my bedroom window; as a butterfly on rainy nights.
As I kept driving, I noticed a street I had traveled on many times before. Not in a car, however, but in flight.
Manuel Park was one of my first destinations, should I be changed anywhere near it.
It was my safe haven.
A place where I could rest undisturbed.
Of course. I'd driven there instinctively.
I carefully parked my silver Corolla and headed straight for the tree.
My tree, I called it.
Countless times I had sat perched on its tall, majestic branches until the rain slowed, and eventually stopped. Here, I had observed family after family rush to their cars to avoid being soaked by the cold, wet drops. Even couples kissed gently through the downpour without a care in the world because they thought nobody was watching. All these wonders I saw, but knew I could never experience them myself.
At times, the park was empty, leaving me alone with the beautiful, torturous rain. At times like these, all I had to observe was the formation of deep puddles on the wet ground.
My mind began to lose control of itself as I sat on the cool grass with my back against the sturdy tree.
I thought again of my dream, replaying it in my mind on a never-ending film.
I saw the boy. So beautiful even years ago. He had a certain charm about him... a mysterious, yet very boyish, quality. He looked so peaceful, so content with the guitar resting naturally in his arms.
I noticed a piece of his lightly browned hair had fallen into his eyes due to a gust of wind. He did not care because they were tightly shut.
Then, in my dream, a bolt of lightning struck, dividing the sky and touching some far off place with its golden branches. The lightning was soon followed by a clap of thunder so loud that it shook the very earth and caused it to cover its ears.
Fallen leaves swirled in violent tornados all around the white porch, their rustling sound barely audible over the scream of the storm. Then, with one wave of its mighty hand, the wind sent a multitude of foliage onto the deck, brushing the boy's legs with their needle-like points.
Not once did the boy's eyes open.
Not once did his powerful strumming and mellifluous voice end their sound. Even through the pounding rain and harsh wind, he continued on.
It wasn't until a small, silent creature came into his view that his eyes opened wide and the guitar stopped its playing.
It was a butterfly.
Me.
He had stopped for me.
Chapter II

I got home from the park just as the suns rays were gracing the sky. My room looked just as I left it: sheets on the floor, pillow pressed in between the wall and the side of the bed, and laundry strewn from my closet to the bathroom. My room wasn’t usually this messy, I just hadn’t been paying attention to a lot of things lately. My mind was lost on other topics. I was trying not to think about him, really I was. But it was like his image was shoved and drilled inside my brain just when I was trying desperately to forget it. My mom wouldn’t be up for at least another 2 hours, so I decided to try and salvage some sleep; normal, dreamless sleep was what I was hoping for. I fixed my sheets on the bed and placed the pillow in its normal position. Only seconds after, I was asleep.
I awoke four hours later to the satisfying smell of sizzling bacon and sweet pancakes. Mom was up, and I’m guessing that was an elaborately cooked breakfast I was smelling. I slowly turned over and half rolled out of bed, sweeping my feet underneath me at the last second to land sturdily on the floor. The hard wood didn’t feel very comforting to my still-asleep feet as I walked over to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. My deep brown hair had developed flowing, sporadic waves throughout the night, attempting to return to its natural waviness. Every now and then, I would see a golden, glittery sheen appear if the lighting was just perfect. My skin was smooth and angelic, interrupted by deep chocolate eyes that held flecks of pure gold in their crevices. These subtle traces of gold were left behind from the overwhelming goldenness of my butterfly state; it was one thing I actually liked