Flash Fiction Friday #8: “Purple Rain”

I know it’s not Friday, but I owe three flash fictions because I’ve been traveling and have had a lot on my plate. This one is less fantasy and more straight fiction, but it was still fun and cute to write. I hope you enjoy it!

What is flash fiction? It’s an itty bitty story, generally under 1,000 words or 3 printed pages. Fresh fantasy and sci fi flash fiction every Friday!

*Please pardon grammar whoopsies. They will be fixed when this story is published in a collection later this year.

“Purple Rain”

A Fantasy Flash Fiction

By

K. D. Jones

 

The little girl cupped her palms together as it began to rain. “Why is the rain clear, Mother?”

“Because that’s just the way it is,” she said matter-of-factly, fishing through her bag for her umbrella. “Put your hood up before you get wet.”

“I don’t mind if I get wet. I can always dry off.”

The next day it rained again, except this time the little girl was visiting at her grandpa’s. “Grandpa,” she said, “why is the rain clear?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, little one. It’s just the way it is.”

Dissatisfied, the girl frowned but said no more.

One week later, it rained again. This time the girl was in a carriage with her father, rumbling along a gravel road. Removing her glove, she stuck her hand out the window and said, “Father, why is the rain clear?”

“Because it just is,” he said, skimming over the morning paper.

“But I want the rain to be purple.”

“Such a thing is impossible, dear.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

Why couldn’t the rain be other colors? She loved rain, and she loved the color purple. She wanted the rain to be purple! There had to be some way to make her dream come true.

The following week, she returned to her manor. She was sitting in painting class when it began to rain. Their teacher walked around, commenting on her students’ work. She stopped by the girl’s easel. “You’ve painted purple rain.”

“It’s the only way I can make the rain purple. To dream about it. Everybody else tells me it’s impossible.”

The teacher grinned. “Nothing is impossible.”

The next painting class, it was raining again. Only this time, the teacher had her students meet her outside. Half of them met on the roof while the other half stood on the ground far below, including the little girl. The teacher had instructed them to wear something they didn’t mind getting a little bit dirty.

The little girl wore her normal clothes, because she figured she could always wash them. She wasn’t afraid of hard work and rather enjoyed it.

“Are you ready?” the teacher called, leaning over the side of the building.

“Ready for what?” called back the little girl.

“For purple rain!” The teacher grinned from ear to ear as she positioned a wooden beam contraption with many little holes in it along the side of the roof. Once it was in place, she instructed two of her students to take a large bucket and slowly dump it into the contraption.

They did as she said. Tiny, dark raindrops sputtered out of the contraption, falling, falling, falling—

The little girl cupped her hands.

The water was purple.

Her face lighting up with glee, she threw the purple rain in the air and danced in it with her friends. When they all got back to class, soaked to the bone but happy and free, the teacher handed each of them a dry towel. “What was the moral of today’s demonstration?” she asked the class.

Small hands shot up.

“We can paint the rain!”

“That the rain can be multiple colors!”

“Yes, it was all those things. But what else?”

The little girl raised her hands, smiling. She now knew the secret. “That the impossible can be possible.”

“Yes, little one. That is exactly it.”

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