The Rain’s Shadow
In a quiet suburb where the rain whispered secrets to the earth, there lived a boy named Kwame Kofi-Henry. His name carried the weight of roots—"Kwame" meaning "born on Saturday" in Akan, with "Kofi" from his father’s Ghanaian heritage and "Henry" his mother’s Swiss surname, combined to honor their wish to keep their identities separate and respectful. Kwame loved to exercise, ride his bike, and feel the wind rush past him—anything to keep his muscles strong and his heart pounding. But he hated being stuck inside, especially when the rain poured down, turning everything into a slick, dangerous mess.
One evening, as the sky darkened with ominous clouds, Kwame approached his mother, Ingrid. Ingrid was a striking woman with golden blonde hair, tied into two long braids that reached her waist, decorated with pearl beads that shimmered softly. She had immigrated from Switzerland years ago, seeking a new life in Florida after escaping the hardships of her homeland. Her husband, Kwame’s father, was from Ghana, fleeing poverty and corruption. He had joined the military, eventually joining the Marines, but he went missing in action during the Gulf War when Kwame was just a baby, leaving behind only stories and an unspoken ache.
He knocked softly on her door. Inside, Ingrid was already lying in her bed, her dark blue sheets with Hello Kitty designs pulled up to her waist. She looked up and smiled gently, her purple eyes warm but tired.
“Mom,” Kwame said, voice firm but respectful, “I want to go for a walk. I know I can't ride my bike because of the rain. It’s unsafe. I’ll be careful.”
Ingrid’s expression softened with concern. “Kwame, sweetheart, it’s pouring. It’s dangerous outside. Your bike might slip, and you could fall. Be careful.”
He hesitated, feeling the urge to move, to feel the rush of the outdoors. “I can’t just lie down, Mom. I need to keep moving. I need to get the muscles pumping.”
She gently patted his arm. “Just be careful out there, okay?”
He nodded, slipped into his coat decorated with a prowling tiger amid jungle foliage, and his red sweatpants. Stepping out into the rain-drenched street, he took about five minutes to reach the bustling area beyond his neighborhood: stores, restaurants, supermarkets, salons, and even a gun shop.
But something felt off.
A strange prickling at the back of his neck. He sensed he was being followed. No one looked directly at him—no, it was more like a presence, a shadow that moved just beyond his sight. Over and over again, he caught fleeting glimpses of figures lurking behind corners, behind parked cars, but whenever he turned to look, they were gone.
His heart pounded faster. Panic crept in like the cold rain. He quickened his pace, trying to shake off the feeling, but it grew stronger. Suddenly, he felt as though footsteps were pounding just behind him—closer with each step. His breath quickened, and he instinctively broke into a run, heading straight for the nearest grocery store.
He reached for the door handle, pulling with all his might, desperate to get inside. But as he yanked it open, everything changed.
He was back in his house.
The rain’s sound was muffled but still present—soft patters on the roof and windows, the steady hum of water falling outside. The street noises were faint but audible through the walls. He stood there, trembling, wondering if what he had just experienced was real or just a nightmare. Was it a premonition? Or simply his fear playing tricks on his mind?
He looked over at his mother’s room. Ingrid was lying in her bed, her purple eyes calm, her golden blonde hair still neatly braided with pearl beads. She looked up and smiled softly at him.
He hesitated but then quietly slipped into her room. “Mom… I want to lie down now,” he said softly.
She nodded gently. “That’s good, my boy.”
Kwame climbed into her bed—her Hello Kitty-themed sheets wrapping him in comfort—and she carefully pulled the covers over him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. As she relaxed beside him, he couldn’t help but wonder: was that just a fear? Or was there something more lurking in the shadows of his mind? Would he have made it into that store in time? Sometimes, he thought, it’s better not to tempt fate.
As sleep finally claimed him, the rain outside continued to fall, muffled but persistent, hiding whatever secrets the storm kept beneath its dark, trembling shadow.
One evening, as the sky darkened with ominous clouds, Kwame approached his mother, Ingrid. Ingrid was a striking woman with golden blonde hair, tied into two long braids that reached her waist, decorated with pearl beads that shimmered softly. She had immigrated from Switzerland years ago, seeking a new life in Florida after escaping the hardships of her homeland. Her husband, Kwame’s father, was from Ghana, fleeing poverty and corruption. He had joined the military, eventually joining the Marines, but he went missing in action during the Gulf War when Kwame was just a baby, leaving behind only stories and an unspoken ache.
He knocked softly on her door. Inside, Ingrid was already lying in her bed, her dark blue sheets with Hello Kitty designs pulled up to her waist. She looked up and smiled gently, her purple eyes warm but tired.
“Mom,” Kwame said, voice firm but respectful, “I want to go for a walk. I know I can't ride my bike because of the rain. It’s unsafe. I’ll be careful.”
Ingrid’s expression softened with concern. “Kwame, sweetheart, it’s pouring. It’s dangerous outside. Your bike might slip, and you could fall. Be careful.”
He hesitated, feeling the urge to move, to feel the rush of the outdoors. “I can’t just lie down, Mom. I need to keep moving. I need to get the muscles pumping.”
She gently patted his arm. “Just be careful out there, okay?”
He nodded, slipped into his coat decorated with a prowling tiger amid jungle foliage, and his red sweatpants. Stepping out into the rain-drenched street, he took about five minutes to reach the bustling area beyond his neighborhood: stores, restaurants, supermarkets, salons, and even a gun shop.
But something felt off.
A strange prickling at the back of his neck. He sensed he was being followed. No one looked directly at him—no, it was more like a presence, a shadow that moved just beyond his sight. Over and over again, he caught fleeting glimpses of figures lurking behind corners, behind parked cars, but whenever he turned to look, they were gone.
His heart pounded faster. Panic crept in like the cold rain. He quickened his pace, trying to shake off the feeling, but it grew stronger. Suddenly, he felt as though footsteps were pounding just behind him—closer with each step. His breath quickened, and he instinctively broke into a run, heading straight for the nearest grocery store.
He reached for the door handle, pulling with all his might, desperate to get inside. But as he yanked it open, everything changed.
He was back in his house.
The rain’s sound was muffled but still present—soft patters on the roof and windows, the steady hum of water falling outside. The street noises were faint but audible through the walls. He stood there, trembling, wondering if what he had just experienced was real or just a nightmare. Was it a premonition? Or simply his fear playing tricks on his mind?
He looked over at his mother’s room. Ingrid was lying in her bed, her purple eyes calm, her golden blonde hair still neatly braided with pearl beads. She looked up and smiled softly at him.
He hesitated but then quietly slipped into her room. “Mom… I want to lie down now,” he said softly.
She nodded gently. “That’s good, my boy.”
Kwame climbed into her bed—her Hello Kitty-themed sheets wrapping him in comfort—and she carefully pulled the covers over him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. As she relaxed beside him, he couldn’t help but wonder: was that just a fear? Or was there something more lurking in the shadows of his mind? Would he have made it into that store in time? Sometimes, he thought, it’s better not to tempt fate.
As sleep finally claimed him, the rain outside continued to fall, muffled but persistent, hiding whatever secrets the storm kept beneath its dark, trembling shadow.
31-35, M