Tapping: A Short Story

The first appearance of rain is when the people of the house are supposed to be leaving for work, “The weather box on the front door sang quietly: “Rain, Rain, go away; rubbers, raincoats for today…””

As the storm moved closer it broke into hundreds of pieces so that the rain fell here and there from the high clouds in long, curving gray plumes. It looked like maybe fifty or sixty fires scattered over the city, except that the tall, smoky columns were flowing in reverse. And if you looked closely you could see that in some places the rain didn’t make it all the way to the ground. Three-

The cacophonous sound of rain flooded my ears, but the wind had since died and it now pendent down in vertical parallel paths like ropes dependent on the sky to support them.

On page 110 the setting is depicting Holling’s walk home from school. The weather produced dark clouds prepared to rain, “Gray clouds whose undersides had been shredded” (Schmidt 110). Also, with ominous clouds leaving behind an awfully cold mist that hung for what

Evening had arrived and everything had been packed away ready for its next use. It had also brought the grim warning of a storm. The sky was brimming with a dark shade of grey and black, making the mood eerily mysterious. A storm was brewing; it was about to blow, just like a volcano about to erupt. Then, “Boom!”. A lightning strike crackled across the sky, one after another. After three lightning strikes a downpour of rain fell from the sky.

From my room,I had smelt and sensed that rain was about to  arrive and had scurried outside before the drops commenced.Sweet anticipation formed inside as I awaited the blissful raindrops to pelt me on my face and body.The wind rose higher and grew frighteningly violent,swirling throwing rocks and gravel into the air.The thin

The rain outside collided with the metal rain catcher. Small droplets formed on the exterior of each window; all glistening in the yellow light coming from the streetlamp nearby.

Right tap. Left tap. Ever since I popped out, I've let the overwhelming desire for

As I drew near to the drop, the point where the road begins it's journey back down to the muggy, hot and annoyingly long valley below, I saw dark clouds gathering, and moving Northward, above. Lightning played occasionally, with the greenery. The wind began to rise.

The brisk wind rustled the leaves and the branches murmured. The morning had been chilly and opaque, with a curtain of drizzle sweeping across the plains. The decaying morality and despair of humanity has affected the weather, or have I just ceased being able to see colour?

The sound of the young boy's shoes echoed through the crisp New York air. The moon left an omniscient glow on the alleyways he bolted through. The sound of the loose change he made shining shoes rattled in his pockets as he crossed the alley way between Morris and 27th. Just as he made it to the dumpster a man with a white tee shirt holding a piece of broken pipe stepped out from a shadow and approached the boy. “Well well, look what the cat drug in...” He said calmly, tapping the pipe on his hand.

A large sycamore tree waved to the warm breeze. A parade of greens leaves and brown branches dancing to the beat of the world. The boiling sun beat down on the lone tree casting a cool shadow in its wake. White thin clouds scattered in the wild open blue sky. Leaving a trail of white mist running with the wind. Cricket sang a slow heavy tune calling to the clouds to come a little closer and bless the hot ground with cool shade.

Then drops of rain trickle from the sky putting out most of the fore. By dawn, the fires were out and smoke covered the sky, making it hard to breath.

The cloud was blocking the sun, an old shrine that was built deep into the forest, as the fog started to grew thicker each passing minute. Moss continues to grow on the shrine gate and on the staircase that leads to the dilapidated shrine. Little rain drops began to fall on puddles creating a drop sound singling that the droplet has descend. A person whom was staring into the cloudy sky, sitting on a log that was stuck in the water as wind started to blow its way.

The downpour recounts an idiosyncratic phenomenon from his childhood that lingered a cherished occurrence on the writer’s mind; watching as the rain drenched earth and everything on it, then becoming shadowed by the vehement thunder to follow, impacted the writer tremendously as the result/damage of the aforementioned coerced an aesthetic appreciation towards this phenomenon. This heavy downpour embarked the unforgettable memories of playing outside in the heavy rain as he reminisced on the vast imagery of nature’s elements along with the striking sounds that followed. In this extract, the writer’s application of stylistic devices and emotive languages such as: his amplification of “The Downpour” in his description, energizing personifications,