It is raining outside the boy's window.
He sits by the paned glass, somewhere around ten years old, fascinated by the spots of water falling terminally through the air and colliding with the ground with surprisingly insignificant force. The boy wonders to himself how something falling so fast could do so little damage to the world around it. He wonders why the rain causes him no harm when he stands underneath it and lets it play across his face. He thinks about the mysterious phenomenon; certainly not correctly. But he thinks, nonetheless. His attention is drawn suddenly by the grey plastic of the game controller wired to his Nintendo 64.
Opening another chamber in his already overly preoccupied mind, he situates himself in front of his tiny white monitor and reaches for the device. The slight chill of the recently unhandled material greets his skin as his left hand slides around the molded grip, sending a subtle jolt of familiarity through his elbow and up into the muscles of his shoulder blade. As he leans forward in his chair to turn on the monitor, a gentle roll of thunder reverberates through the boy's window. His thoughts are briefly turned back to the rain as the Legend of Zelda boots on the small black box that to him is the largest, most important item in his cluttered room.
Almost as quickly as his attention was directed back towards the rain, the all too familiar melody of the title screen calls his lack of focus back into the room's interior. For a time, at least, the boy is content.
The boy, now in his twenties, sits in his recently parked car with his hands still gripping the steering wheel and listening through the music wafting out of his stereo to the rhythmic sound of the idling engine. It is raining outside the vehicle, and he allows the din of the heavy downpour to wash over him. Filled with knowledge that he once lacked about the rain, he sighs out the breath that he had been holding and yearns for the sense of mystery that he once maintained about the world. He watches the water slide down the windshield and decides to just leave his things in the back seat for now. The emergency break emits its familiar ratcheting sound as the boy pulls it into place and rotates the key in the ignition backwards until the engine quiets. Letting his foot off of the clutch for the last time that day, he steps out into the deluge, unfazed by his almost immediate wetness.
The boy stands motionless outside of his car with his face angled up towards the clouds, eyes gently shut as the water slams against his skin.