A thunderbolt can kill you in an instant. A raindrop will make you sick. A moment of freedom is dangerous.

I longed for one simple freedom, to step out into the rain.

“You’ll get sick,” they said.

“It’s dangerous!” they exclaimed.

“It’s freedom!” I wanted to respond. I always my mouth shut though. Instead I responded with actions.

I kicked off my shoes, and stepped out onto the muddy field of grass, ignoring my mother’s pleas that rang in the back of my head. The coolness of the water contrasted with the usual warmth of summer.

I always liked the cold more.

I remained silent, listening to the beat of the droplets hitting the rooftops.

“Pitter, patter.

Pitter, patter.”

I stood and listened. And then, I screamed.

Whether it was of joy, or pride, or anguish, I’ll never be sure. Perhaps it was in defiance; of my parents, of society, of everything.

I let myself soak from head to toe, and tilted my head back, mouth open, tasting the droplets. Somehow it tasted different. It tasted real.

“A whole lot better than tap water,” I thought.

The screams must have attracted the attention of my mother, seeing as I soon found her at the doorstep, yelling for me to come back inside. I took my time to comply, letting my bare feet trudge across the mud. I was lectured that night, but it was worth the momentary solitude the rain provided. For just a few moments, I had been free.

“I’m still crazy. The rain feels good. I love to walk in it.

“I don’t think I’d like that,” he said.

“You might if you tried.”

-Farenheit 451