Timed Writing Exercise #1

The Boy in the Rain

Just as writing exercises are important for a creator to maintain a level of creative uniqueness to avoid stagnation, it is just as important to vary the tasks or exercises. Continuing with the same exercises every time can be more detrimental than doing nothing at all. It may end up feeling like an obligation, which is the last thing you want in your creative exploration. You want these tasks to feel like a breath of fresh air amongst the sea of words you've been staring at. Avoid making these writing tasks feel like a chore. They should be used as a way to give you some freedom to write without thinking and get the creative juices flowing.

Come up with a series of different tasks for yourself and either rotate between or pick one at random to have a go at, and, if you're not feeling up to it, don't force yourself. This shouldn't feel like something you can be stuck on, it should be something fun and different above all.

If you're struggling with ideas on how to change up your moments of creative freedom, this may be a starting point for you.

I wanted to create something a little different from my 10-minute exercises while maintaining some of the format and creative freedom. I decided that I would try to create a short story based on what came to mind when seeing an image.

The image I used was generated while I was coming up with representative images for my latest in the series of horror poems. It didn't quite fit what I needed for that, but, it did get my brain thinking, and thought it would be interesting to do something with.

From that I decided that I would not give myself a time limit this time and, instead, time myself until I came to a natural conclusion, including rough proofreading.

I hope you enjoy it. It was something different for me and gave me more time to further expand upon the ideas that came to me. I didn't want to spend hours on it, so mentally tried to keep it around 1 hour.

If this gives you a little inspiration to overcome writer's block or a creative rut, or even something you can enjoy reading for a few moments, I will call it successful

They say that the rain brings life, but it also brings something else, something darker and less revitalising.

The legend goes that it’s on rainy, gloomy days that you see him. Standing in the deep puddles, in his bright yellow raincoat with paper animals floating around him. A ghostly white face, accented by his dark hair and deep, dark circles around his eyes. He appears to be a young boy, no more than 10 years old but in fact, if this is the same boy, he is hundreds of years old, as this myth dates back to the late 1700s, in Europe. What he, or should I say it is, that no one really knows, except that he is only ever spotted during heavy rains where there is free-flowing surface water. This is the tale of when I saw him and it changed everything.

It was one of those normal rainy afternoons. The kind that when you’re a kid, seem to last forever and are the most boring experiences of your life. To make it worse, it was Saturday! How dare it rain on the only day I properly had free. No school that day or the next, just time to relax and enjoy myself. But no, someone had decided this Saturday was going to be the worst. I had already spent an hour watching the raindrops hitting the window in my bedroom and it was now time to go out into the living room to watch the rain fall on the pavement where I could be riding my bike in the sunshine.

I walked down the stairs, dejected, life was basically over anyway, so why should I show any enthusiasm?

“Why do you look like you’ve just found out the world is ending” my mother jested from the kitchen, laughing at my demeanour and rolled-up pyjama bottoms.

“Because it basically has” I snapped back, scowling as I passed the door and flicked the light for the living room. “So dramatic. You’re 12. It’s just raining”, the voice from the kitchen retorted in between chuckles. After this attack, I just scoffed and closed the living room door, wrenching open the curtains and slumping across the back of the sofa. Yep, it was still raining…

I don’t know how much time passed; weeks by the feel of it and there was no sign of it letting up, and now I was getting fed up with listening to the drops hitting the window, so I flicked on the TV. However, it was Saturday afternoon when kids should be outside, so there was nothing of any interest. I picked a random channel and turned back to the window. A game show host talked the random nonsense they do to the contestants but that was okay, it was just background noise.

I don’t know how much more time passed but I woke up lying across the back of the sofa, the rain was still hammering but the sky had darkened slightly and the game show had finished; there was now what my 12-year-old brain perceived as 2 people sitting, making boring conversation on. I sat up, a little confused, and rubbed my eyes. How was it still raining? Was it going to rain forever? Time to continue the monotony.

I got myself back into my prime position on the sofa to observe the nothingness outside, only, this time there wasn’t nothing. Just off the side of the road, beside a large oak tree, there was a figure, a child, just standing there in the rain. The bright yellow raincoat made the figure stand out from the gloom. I couldn’t make out if it was a boy or a girl from this distance because of the large hood covering their head, completely obscuring the face.

I suppose, on the surface, this wasn’t unusual; it was a child playing out in the rain in a large raincoat. Some kids did this, I accepted, but this one was different, it felt different, and I couldn’t articulate or even comprehend why. There was an aura about this child, and I couldn’t work out if it was good or bad; just strange. By this point, I had convinced my mind it was a boy, and he was out in the rain, standing, motionless under an oak tree. It looked like he was in a deep puddle just watching the water beneath him. I was engrossed, without realising I had moved, and I was now sitting on the windowsill with my nose almost pressed against the glass. Why though? After all, he wasn’t doing anything, he was just standing there but, I became more and more entranced as I watched. I couldn’t look away.

From what I could tell, about 15 minutes passed where both of us were motionless; the boy in the raincoat in the puddle, and me, sitting on the windowsill with my warm breath fogging a spot around my face as I exhaled. It’s like we were both under the same spell, keeping us petrified until a crack of thunder echoed above and shook me to my core. I jumped so hard that I nearly fell from the windowsill. The sound from the TV suddenly became audible again, then crackled out to static. I turned back to the window, needing to see if the boy reacted to the thunder as I had, or at all for that matter.

As I turned and focussed my eyes went huge. The boy was facing this way. Even at this distance, I knew he was looking directly at me. Still unmoving, the rain dripped down the front of his hood causing his shadowed face to look the more unnerving, but I couldn’t look away again. It was different this time though, overpowering. A stare that reached right into my very being and deeply unsettled me.

I continued to watch, unable to move. Time felt like it had frozen. The rain seemed like it had stopped mid-fall. Suddenly, the boy lifted his arm from his pocket, and at once, the rain continued, yet there was still no noise. He was holding something; I couldn’t make it out. Something quite small, maybe a little bigger than his hand, and white. It’s like he was trying to show it to me, but he was so far away, there was no way I could see what it was.

He stood like that for a couple of minutes before he lifted his head as if to look at me more clearly. At that moment, the TV crackled back to life, but there was no picture, only distorted sound like that of a radio not quite tuned in. “Wanna see?”, the TV questioned, then after a few seconds “wanna see?”, again. Was this a show coming through the static? It didn’t feel like it. I couldn’t turn to see if any images were flickering through; the boy's spell still had hold of me, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his silhouette. “Wanna see what I have?” the voice from the TV continued, “it’s for you”. This was definitely no show; that boy was talking to me through the TV, I was sure of it. I tried to answer but nothing came out. Fear began to spread through me like a virus. What was happening to me? What does he want?

“It’s for you. It’s a crow, just for you. Wanna see?”, the voice came through clearer and with a mischievous child-like tone. I don’t know why, but I could feel that the boy was smiling at me. A sinister smile, just for me.

“I made it for you, just for you. Just for you. Just for you”, the voice repeated and gradually tailed off but became deeper and more ominous each time it repeated.

I had to do something, I needed to get away from the window and away from this boy’s gaze. I was scared and all I wanted was to hide under my duvet. I fought my body furiously, trying to regain control of my muscles and functions. Using everything I had, I fought his control until I was out of breath yet I hadn’t managed to move at all.

His smile was mocking me, inviting me to try again, I could tell. It was like I could sense his feelings and enjoyment. He lifted his other hand from his pocket and raised one finger, rocking it side to side, telling me it was pointless.

My breath was so fast now it felt like I was hyperventilating, and he knew it. He jerked his head to one side, the way a dog would when curious. It was then that another crack of thunder exploded above. It was like the thunder broke the spell. I fell backward, tumbling from the windowsill to the floor with a thud. I could move again. I was exhausted, but I could move. I needed to use this opportunity. His concentration must have been broken by the thunder. It didn’t matter, I needed to get out. I used what remaining energy I had to reach up and pull the curtains close before I stood up. I wasn’t taking chances of him being able to regain control.

I got to my feet and sighed a little relief at the blocked window, I could still move on my own. I wasn’t frozen. I shuffled out from between the sofa and the wall and spun around; He was there. Right there, standing in front of the flickering TV. His hand still outstretched and his head down. My eyes felt like they might pop from the sockets with how wide they had become.

I could make it out now; it was a folded piece of paper, in the shape of a bird in flight, but there was more, writing. Something was written on the wing; a name; my name! Why was my name on the wing of a paper bird in the mysterious boy’s hand?

“See”, his voice had changed back to that of a young mischievous child, “I made it for you. You’re the crow”. I don’t know where it came from, but my fear subsided briefly, enough to speak, even if it was somewhat forced and stammering. “Wh-, what do you m-, mean?”. I tried desperately to avert my gaze from him even though my legs wouldn’t move from fear. From the corner of my vision, I saw movement, he raised his head, and I saw his face for the first time. My whole being was overcome with shock and I was convinced he could sense it. His face was ghostly white and gaunt. So thin I could see his cheekbones protruding. The dark circles around his almost black eyes and his black hair that hung midway down his forehead accentuated the paleness of his skin. He looked like a corpse; like he had just risen from a coffin. His thin, pale, and chapped lips creased round into an emotionless smile as he spoke. “You get to become me. We are one from two, can’t you see”. As he finished speaking, like an unspoken command, my head turned to face him, and my eyes fixed upon the paper bird in his hand. I had no control again. My body stiffened and took a step closer.  He raised the figurine to his face, just in front of his empty smile, and blew gently on it. As he blew, the paper crow’s wings began to flap and it was airborne, coming straight towards me.

The light flickered and, in that instant, the boy was gone but the bird continued, flying straight into my chest. As it connected, I felt a spark run through me, as if being electrocuted and I flew backward, connecting with the wall behind, then it was black. That’s all I remember.

This is my encounter with the legend of the boy in the yellow raincoat, that comes out in the rain, surrounded by paper animals. He can be found on those gloomy, rainy days kids. Just look out the window when everything feels hopeless and watch for the deep-flowing puddles and his yellow coat. He will find you; I know, he found me and now he is me. He can be you too.

The final time after completing a rough proofread.