Part 20

That time, alone, without a phone, hungry, afraid, the rain
beating down for three days straight, flooded streets like

prison moats. The Bay of Bengal, was dumping her angst
with unnerving ferocity. Water stood a foot deep outside

the gate. I was told when I was young that happiness is a
constant. We all get an equal share. I didn’t know then that

to grow up is to cling to false hope with a fist larger than a
child’s. But this is an ordinary story, there is no great feat of

survival. No heart-warming rescue. No heroics. No hero. Just
the being. Just the waiting. Just the terrifying nights. Just

the numbness of morning. Just the eventual ceasing of the
rain. Like a truth. Without reason. Like a mirror that swallows

reflections. The rain became my monster. The rain became
my foe. The rain became the hell I could not conquer. A

drizzle was a deluge. A deluge, the dark of an endless night.
The monsoon, an affliction without remedy. These are tests

I cannot pass. Tests I cannot fail. Always the same result.
Always the same consequence. Happiness is a constant.