THE RAINBOW

A story inspired by ancient mythological tales of how rainbows came to be.

When I was young I was like a sky full of thunder and sudden white noise.  I growled at the world and frowned at happiness as it slammed the door on the way out. 

My mother and father shouted at each other and at me.  There was never quiet.

One day I had had enough and as the clouds lowered their brows and poured down angry tears I ran and ran through fields and woods and over hills finally lay down exhausted on the banks of a shiny shimmering stream.  I stared at my angry shaking distorted face.  I stared at the reflections of clouds as they became lower and lower and felt like a heavy blanket on my back.

I wrote in the surface of the water ‘help’ and watched as the letters formed the word that held the surface as if I’d written on paper.

Then a spark of colour reflected in the colourless water.  It moved so fast I couldn’t tell what it was.  I didn’t want to turn round and feel the heavy cloud against my face.

Another spark and another and another and…birds all weaving in and out of each other trailing a mist of colour behind them all different.

Then they plunged through the clouds splitting them open and like a rope they joined  RED—ORANGE—YELLOW--GREEN –BLUE—INDIGO—VIOLET and the clouds tried to wedge them apart but they were too strong together.  And they reached down into the water in front of me and shook the surface and there I was…smiling.

I am not young anymore and still I get angry and shout at the world.  Maybe I am my mother and father’s son after all!  Or maybe not for they never ran and searched and found the stream like I did.  Maybe in their hearts they didn’t want to. 

I did and now every time the clouds lower their brows I search out the stream.  I don’t always find it and every time I leave it I forget where it is.  I must search constantly. 

Each time though if I ask the birds appear and weave their scarf of colour and I am ready for another day.