I am pleased to participate in the STB Creative Writing Prompt 19, I invite @ungranulises to participate.
My childhood was spent in the small, quiet town of kanazawa. There, respect for the elderly was paramount, but whenever my grandmother mentioned something about expecting cotton candy thunder or hail, strawberry or chocolate flavor, I couldn't help but laugh. I was as skeptical as my dad, a stern, unsmiling man who disregarded Grandma Sobo's sayings.
When it rained, my grandmother would look longingly at the horizon, as if she were waiting for a miracle or as if she was longing for those times, where she surely enjoyed those waters and the dew that the sky offered us. But, although I never believed those stories she told, which according to her were experiences of her youth, something inside me wished that those stories, no matter how fantastic they seemed, had a bit of truth in them.
I longed for that positive attitude towards life that Sobo had, that vibrant dream that no matter how much we did not understand, made life with her lighter. One day, while we were out in the field picking some flowers, I noticed my grandmother getting impatient as if something was making her anxious. She was doing this while she was looking insistently at the sky in which we could see some brown clouds.
Brown color, I thought confused. "Grandma, are those clouds brown or am I losing my eyesight?", I mumbled innocently, while scratching my head in search of an explanation. "It's nothing Taki, hopefully it's raining coffee in the field" coffee?", I thought internally, "grandma, coffee doesn't rain it's harvested with fine beans that bring us joy" I said while overflowing with apparent lucidity.
"Taki, I'm surprised that being such a child you haven't managed to develop your imagination" Sobo sentenced, "when I was your age there was a deluge of coffee. Yes, just as you hear it, it may sound silly, but coffee also rains and can cause destruction or bring joy to the people", I kept quiet, that was nothing more than nonsense. But, in an instant the sky became even browner and a beautiful bean with a particular smell hit me on the head.
When I bent down to pick it up, to my surprise I found a coffee bean. I looked at Sobo for an explanation, but suddenly a hailstorm of coffee fell on us and, although I tried to take Sobo by the hand to look for a safe place, she pushed me into a bush and then I knew nothing more. When I awoke, I was in my room surrounded by people and an unmistakable coffee fragrance awakened my senses.
"Sobo!", I shouted in terror, "dad, Sobo is in the field, we couldn't get out of there, it rained coffee" my dad, who had never expressed any emotion or feeling, looked deeply moved, "Son, Sobo is gone, it rained coffee in the field and we found her body bathed in coffee. She has not survived" that day my childhood died, but my imagination was born. "Dad it's true, it rained coffee in the field".