A Short Story Collection

Myra's fingers drew circles on the cold glass. Her head rested on the glass window, looking out into the horizon. The heavy pitter patter of the raindrops outside could be clearly heard, as the harsh winds blew violently. A mass of grey clouds filled the sky, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Her eyes gazed sadly at the weather. Storms were lovely to watch, but spelt danger to her. They always have and forever will.

She reached for the red diary her grandmother had given her just the day before. She trailed her fingers down the old yellow velvety pages and sighed deeply. Writing in it felt like a crime worthy of death: that is probably why her grandmother had kept it for such a long time, for its beauty.

Myra picked up her pen and, after debating with herself for a while, scribbled the date. She took a long look at her surroundings. A flash of light lit the sky for a nanosecond, followed by the loud roar of thunder. She stared into the sky, mesmerized by its splendor. The lightning brought to mind her grandmother's words: After a storm, there is always a rainbow. Those were the same words she was told at her parents' funeral. Ever since then, rainbows had had a significant place in her life.

A smile carved its way up her face. Myra hadn't written for days, and wasn't that why she was given the diary in the first place, to write? The storm proved to be all the inspiration she needed. She wrote about the one thing she loved about storms, the rainbows that follow.

Each color symbolized something special to her.

Red was her grandmother's favorite color, as well as the color of the beautiful antique she was writing in. The color orange made her smile as it reminded her of her playful cat, Spider. Yellow embodied warmth and a feeling of togetherness with her family. It brought back memories of the vacations by the beach. Green reminded her of the beautiful garden she and her grandmother tend to. The garden, which just oozed beauty, was Myra's favorite place. Blue was her favorite color for more that one reason. It brought to mind the sky and birds, and her dreams of one day being one with them.

Finally, purple, the color at the end of the rainbow, resembled home. It was the color of the lavender fields she walked through on her way to school. The smell of the flowers in spring time always reminded her of where she belonged. Smiling, Myra wrote her last words for the day.

There is always a rainbow.