Purple Rain

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The colors reminiscent of county-fair cotton candy and purple Welch’s belied the truth behind their appearance.

Knowing what she knew, Kisch clambered across the meadow once filled with waving grasses and tiny pink wildflowers. She trip-stumbled-tripped on jutting rocks and the last of the tuberous roots that the desperate sucked and tucked in their cheeks, the motion numbing their hunger with the activities of eating. They were all dying whether they admitted it or not. Kisch almost never thought about the question of life or its length but the clouds were back and the thoughts bubbled up to her conscious seeping up from the well of anxiety at her core.

It had been years since the last purpling and fifteen years between that second and the first. The first rained plum, aubergine and concord grape and when it touched your skin it felt like the memory of the best comedic moment of your life. Some giggled. Some guffawed. Either way, it was all fun and games until your heart stopped beating in delight. The living mourned over faces contorted in glee. They cried into caskets of the laughing dead. It was wondrous and horrible at the same time. Kisch made herself believe that they enjoyed their last moments, it was the only way to make it through the months of rain, splattered with corpses, funerals and tears.

The second rain was a soft lavender that fell or misted down. It was so soft that it didn’t warrant an umbrella. Folks just flipped their collars up, pulled on their hoods and kept their heads down. It was definitely welcome. The earth had become so dry and parched in areas that were always dry and parched that soil would wisp and whir up with the slightest breeze. Meadows that were usually lush were sparsely patched with grass. So when the mist came the people were happy and smiled into their hoods and popped collars. Ground cover creeped and grew across the dry hills, valleys and plains. Small purple flowers with the smell of summer berries popped up and it was good to smile. It felt like it did before the first rain made smiling something to fear.

The flowers gave way to purple fruits peach like but with the deep color of the sky just above the winter sunset. Their seductive smell and color seemed to appear in seconds all across the globe. The planet lit up as teens posted selfies in fields of fruit, two fingers up in a very hopeful peace sign. It happened so quickly and so all at once that no one had time enough to be wary or scared. When the drupes dropped, it was as if millions of Eves took a single bite, the sound snapped in the ears of everyone everywhere all at once. Disparate and separated humans having one singular final experience. A new generation learned to fear any sky approaching mauve.

There was no rhyme or reason or season for the dying. Those who died lingered for months or died within seconds and every length of time in between. Some died gasping for air. Others died of laughter. Some simply closed their eyes and went forever to sleep. Kisch’s reaction was normal and programmed by years of drills and practice and plans. Her arms pumped and legs ran automatically headed to the nearest shelter only yards away. On that day when the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky it meant the possibility of beauty and promise of terrible loss.