{Self-Titled}

Charlie and the Great Flood

Once upon a time, there was a small raindrop that lived in a small house in a small town inside of a small cloud; one that floated about high in the light blue sky. Charlie was his name, and he was the happiest little raindrop in the cloud, maybe even the whole sky.

Charlie, honey, time to wake up!

That was Charlie’s favourite thing in the world to do – waking up. That and going to school, of course. How awesome was it, then, that he got to do both of them every single day!

Yay! Another day, shouted Charlie. Woohoo! Being alive is the best.

It was as if when he was asleep each night, somebody snuck into his room with a straw and blew a giant bubble of joy inside him, because every morning when he woke, he would bounce around his bedroom, almost as if he were a big old balloon. Waking up was awesome, it really was. There was no better feeling, except, of course, going to school – that was just the best!

You see, at school, Charlie got to see his best friends. They were all raindrops just like him. Some of them were big raindrops and some of them were small, but like Charlie, they were all made of water, and that was what mattered. He had so many friends, too – enough to fill a hundred swimming pools. He loved them and they loved him.

Big day today, Charlie, said Mum. Are you excited?

Charlie had almost forgotten. Today was the big day. He’d thought it was just a normal day.

Your mum’s right, you know, said Dad. It is a big day today.

He made it sound so daunting as if there was no way it would be fun.

Did I ever tell you about your uncle?

Charlie settled down and paid attention to his dad, just as he always did, whenever he listened to this story. The pride of the family, his dad called it. A story he told a hundred times a day, every day of the week. It was a story that Charlie never tired of hearing, just as Dad never tired of telling it.

He was right about your age, he was – Uncle Cliff. He was the pride of my daddy’s eyes too. Of everyone really. The pride of our family, he was. And still is.

Mum put her hand on Dad’s shoulder and wept a tear, but not a sad one mind you.

The bravest raindrop in the cloud, said Dad. You know what he was made of?

Of course, he knew; the same thing he was made of every other time he’d told this story.

What’s that, Dad? said Charlie, pretending he had no idea.

Courage, said Dad. He was made of courage.

Courage, said Charlie in awe as if hearing it for the first time. Wow.

That’s right. Your uncle didn’t just rain in any old pond or puddle, not like any ordinary raindrop. No, sirree.

What did he do, dad? said Charlie, on the edge of his seat. What did he do?

Your uncle Cliff put out the great fire, said Dad.

Wow.

That’s right. He didn’t wait. He didn’t flinch. He wasn’t scared one bit. He just jumped off this small cloud and flew right down on top of that raging inferno. And you know what he did?

What’s that, dad?

He saved the day. Your uncle, Cliff. The pride of our family.

Charlie beamed with joy. He loved hearing this story.

One day we’ll be telling that story about you, said Mum.

She kissed him on the cheek and passed him his packed lunch.

You think? asked Charlie. You think I could be the pride of the family too?

I know so, said Mum.

Ever since he was born, Charlie knew that one day a time would come when he would have to leave his small home, to leave his small town, and as crazy as this sounds, to leave the small cloud too. Yep, that’s right! They expected him to jump off the cloud!

Crazy, right?

But that’s just what raindrops did. It's what they were born to do. When the time came, they jumped off their cloud with gazillions of other raindrops, down unto the Earth below.

Be who you are meant to be.

That was the motto. It was what everyone said - his teacher, his mum, his dad; everyone.

You could be relief for a farmer, maybe; a farmer whose crops and cattle had been parched, thirsted, and hard done by a long and terrible drought; or you could be delight for a forest; one whose canopy reaches almost as high as the clouds, filling the streams and rivers that snaked through it bringing sustenance to all the big and little creatures who lived inside; or you could be joy to a small child in a playground, splashing about in a big old pool of mud. You could be anything at all.

Be who you are meant to be.

That’s all anyone ever said.

Be who you were meant to be. Be who you are meant to be.

But that’s the thing, you see; poor Charlie didn’t know who he wanted to be.

What if I don’t know what I want to be? he asked.

You’ll know, said Dad, cryptically.

You’ll figure it out, said Mum, as if that made it better.

What if I’m not relief? said Charlie. What if I’m not delight?

The poor boy was saddled with worry.

What if I’m not Joy?

The idea was absurd. It was all he had been taught to be. It was all he could be. Yet, here he was, thinking of himself in the future and imaging a far worse predicament.

What if I’m a flood? he said.

The thought alone was terrifying. Dad, though, just laughed.

You’ll be fine, son. Just stay in your line, stick with your friends, and it’ll all work out. You’ll see. There’s no need to worry at all.

He made it sound so easy.

We’d better be getting along, said Mum. Today is the big day, and we don’t want to delay.

And it was. Today was the day that Charlie would jump out of the cloud. Today was the day that he would find out who he was born to be. It should have been the happiest day in his life, too. It should have, but it wasn’t.

I wish it were yesterday, said Charlie. I really do.

You see, Charlie didn’t want to grow up. He didn’t want to change. Everything was perfect already as it was. School was fun. Playing chasey in the schoolyard was better. Why couldn’t he just be a kid forever?

Well? said Mum in her wisdom. Even if it were yesterday, it would still be today.

Charlie didn’t really know what she meant but it stopped him from worrying.

Look, she said. There’s all your friends.

There, by the edge of the cloud were gazillions of raindrops, all of them bouncing around trying to peer over the edge; their teacher – Mr Gota – waved his arms around like a crazy person, trying to get them all in single file.

Charlie, come with us, said one group.

Charlie, come with us, said another.

Each group formed a line along the edge of the cloud, each one with a different place and purpose. Some of them would go on to bring rain to farmers, those whose livestock and crops had been parched by a lingering drought, while others would fill lakes and streams, and quench the thirst of the prettiest of flowers and the tallest of trees. Some would even make big puddles, the kind that children loved to play in, so they could get all muddy and have fun.

Charlie, come with us, everyone shouted.

They were all so happy, so sure of who they were going to be.

I’m not ready, said Charlie.

Nobody is ever ready, said Mum. No matter how much they plan. When it’s time, even the bravest - even the most prepared - wishes they had just one minute more.

But what if I’m not like Uncle Cliff?

He looked at Dad as he said it. Uncle Cliff was the pride of the family. He was the pride of the whole town. All Charlie ever wanted was to make his dad proud.

What if I don’t bring relief? What if I don’t bring delight? What if I don’t bring joy? What if I rain on someone’s parade? What if I don’t make you proud?

You worry too much. You’ll do fine, said Mum. Your Dad loves you. He just wants to see you happy. We both do. It’s just a choice.

What if I make a mistake? asked Charlie, sounding more than unsure; sounding scared. What if I choose wrong? What if I don’t know who I want to be?

Mum smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

You are who you are, she said. And that’s who you will forever be.

Again, Charlie had no idea what she meant, but again it stopped him from worrying.

I love you, dear, she shouted as he went to join his friends.

Charlie didn’t look back for he knew that if he did, he would only cry and want to go home. Instead, he pretended he was as brave and courageous as Uncle Cliff.

I wish it were yesterday, he said to himself.

Ten seconds, shouted Mr Gota.

He had spent their entire lives preparing them for this moment, Mr Gota that is; forming them into the raindrops they were, and the raindrops they would soon become. If he was proud, he did a great job at hiding it. His face was shaped like a starting gun and his voice, as he shouted at every line to get ready and get set, sounded like a referee’s whistle.

Five seconds, he shouted.

Charlie peered over the edge of the cloud. Below him, he could see hundreds of other clouds, and on the edges of those clouds, gazillions of raindrops just like him, all lined up and not only ready but wanting to jump – all of them so completely sure of who they were and who they wanted to be.

Yet all Charlie wanted was just one more minute.

One second!

It was so far down. So, so far.

Make me proud, shouted Dad.

And that was what startled Charlie and had him trip and fall off of the cloud. He wasn’t even in a line. Mr Gota hadn’t even shouted ‘Jump’. By the time he had, Charlie was already falling – alone.

I wish it were yesterday, screamed Charlie, as he fell from the sky.

It was a long way down. It was so long in fact that, before he had even gotten halfway, Charlie had stopped his screaming and shouting, and was instead back to his quiet and pensive worrying.

Don’t be a flood, he thought. Don’t be a flood. Don’t be a flood.

Around him, hundreds of millions of raindrops – gazillions even –were raining down from the sky, all of them huddled together in their groups; Charlie, the only one who was alone.

One group sang a song as they rained down. They looked and sounded so merry.

What are you going to be? shouted Charlie.

Joy, shouted one of the raindrops in reply.

That alone made all of the raindrops even happier.

What about you? asked the raindrop to Charlie.

Charlie didn’t know. All he hoped was that he wouldn’t be a flood.

Most of the groups were much the same, singing songs full of jubilant and merry wonder. Most, not all. There were a few ragtag groups. Groups that were made up of angry and rebellious raindrops; raindrops that liked neither relief, delight, nor joy – raindrops that instead, set out to do the exact opposite.

 Hey kid, shouted one of the raindrops. We’re gonna rain on a wedding, said the raindrop. Totally ruin their day. It’s gonna be awesome. Wanna come with us?

No, thank you, shouted Charlie politely.

Your loss, said the rebellious raindrop.

Charlie was just glad they didn’t beat him up.

I wish it were yesterday, he said again.

Charlie could see the ground now. It was still so very far away, but for the first time he could make out the farm, the forest, and the playground. Each was so close to one another and yet he felt so far from either one.

Charlie!

To his right, Charlie could see all of his friends huddled together.

Come with us, they shouted.

I can’t, said Charlie in reply.

He couldn’t either. He was too far away and because he was just a single drop of rain, the wind was taking him further from his friends; further still, from the farm, the forest, or the playground. It was taking him to the river, somewhere no raindrop ever wanted to go.

You can’t go to the river, shouted his friends.

I know, shouted Charlie in reply. But the wind has taken me; there’s nothing I can do. I wish it were yesterday, he shouted. I wish I were with you.

The wind had taken him - so very far. There was no way he could make his way back to them. There was nothing at all that he could do.

We love you, Charlie, shouted his friends.

But Charlie couldn’t hear them. He was falling faster now. And below him, instead of a farm, a forest, or a playground, there was a raging river, one that sounded as clamorous and fierce and ruinous as it looked – just a torrent of unstoppable destruction. Overwhelmed by the noise and afraid to look down, poor Charlie shut his eyes.

I’m sorry Dad, he said. "I’m sorry, Mum. I wish I had been better. I wish I had been more like Uncle Cliff. I really wish it were yesterday.’

Then he splashed into the river.

The torrent raged. It swirled and swarmed, and spun Charlie round and round and round, spitting him into the air a thousand times, just to suck him back under right after. He was dizzy, delirious, and desperate to escape. But there was no escape. He was the river as much as he was himself.

Hi, said a drop of water.

Her name was Stacey.

I’m Stacey, she said.

She was so composed, considering how topsy turvy things were.

What’s your name? she said.

I’m Charlie, said Charlie.

He, though, was not.

Isn’t this so much fun? said Stacey.

It was one of those questions, though, that wasn’t a question.

I wish it were yesterday, shouted Charlie.

Are you not having fun? she asked. Don’t you like rapids?

It was a fair question. Charlie was a raindrop, and nothing made raindrops happier than jumping, and tumbling, and rolling around. It was the most fun thing in the world to do. And every raindrop loved to have fun. Heck, that’s all Charlie did at school every day, and it was all he did when he got home and played by himself – jumping and tumbling and rolling around.

And yet here he was, in a raging river with a billion gazillion other raindrops, all of them doing the one thing he loved more than anything else - jumping and tumbling and rolling around - and poor old Charlie was glum.

I’m worried, he said.

He sounded it too.

Worried? About what?

What we will become, said Charlie.

Stacey laughed.

You’re funny, she said. I like you.

Charlie’s face, though, was shaped like a question mark.

Oh, you’re serious? said Stacey. I thought you were joking.

She looked a little puzzled herself.

It’s all I can think about, said Charlie.

So just think about something else, said Stacey. Or better yet, don’t think at all!

Then she did a whole bunch of cartwheels.

Aren’t you worried? asked Charlie.

Stacey grabbed Charlie’s hands and spun him as fast as she could. Round and round and round they went, faster and faster each time. Soon enough they were spinning so fast that everything was a blur. They couldn’t see anything. They couldn’t hear anything. And when they got fast enough, they couldn’t even think.

This is amazing, shouted Charlie.

For a second it was like being back on the cloud, playing with his best friends. He felt like a kid again – joyful, spirited, and free. The only thing that mattered was right now, and right now he was having the most fun he had ever had in his life.

I love you, Charlie, shouted Stacey, letting go of his hands.

Charlie kept spinning and spinning and spinning, smiling the whole time. He hadn’t even noticed the river splitting in two. He hadn’t seen Stacey flow to one side and he to another.

I love you, Stacey, he shouted, reaching out to grab her hands.

Who’s Stacey?

It wasn’t Stacey’s hands he was holding.

Who are you? said Charlie.

I’m Jeff, said Jeff.

Jeff? Where’s Stacey?

Who’s Stacey?

She’s a raindrop. She’s my best friend.

Really? I’m a raindrop. We should be best friends too.

He made a pretty good case. There was no reason why they shouldn’t be. After all, they were both raindrops, and both of them loved jumping and tumbling and rolling around more than they did anything else.

Best friends forever! shouted Jeff.

Best friends forever! shouted Charlie in reply.

Pretty soon it wasn’t just Charlie and Jeff, there were at least half a gazillion raindrops all holding hands, all of them jumping and tumbling and rolling around. And they were all shouting the exact same thing.

Best friends forever!

They were having so much fun that Charlie had forgotten altogether about worrying, which was something he always did. It was important to worry. It meant you cared about the future because you were thinking about all the things that could go wrong. And here he was, in the middle of a raging river, one that could just as easily become a flood, and he wasn’t worried at all.

I’m having the time of my life, he shouted.

The gazillions of other raindrops all agreed. And so did the other gazillion that joined them just around the river’s bend. There were so many raindrops now that the river had swollen, so much that it spilled out over the banks, onto the land that surrounded it.

Oh no, thought Charlie. I’m a flood. I’m going to bring ruin and heartache to the world. I’m going to bring shame to my mum and dad.

Charlie started to cry. The more he cried, though, the more swollen the river became. And the more swollen the river, the more the little raindrop wept.

I want to go home, he shouted. I wish it were yesterday.

The river didn’t just spill over the banks now; it flooded the entire land. Pushed out over the edge, Jeff and the other raindrops all shouted with glee: We love you, Charlie.

The poor little raindrop didn’t hear though. The river raged and roared so loud that even his own cries went unheard. Outwards Charlie went, swept by a magnificent current, out over the land, almost tearing out every tree, and whipping the soil up like grains of sand in a cyclonic wind.

Rife with shame and guilt, Charlie held his breath every second of the way. He shut his eyes too, not wanting to see what kind of terror and devastation awaited him. When he did finally open them though, it wasn’t misery that awaited him. It wasn’t untold death and destruction. It wasn’t chaos, devastation, and ruin. No. It was joy.

It was joy, delight, and relief.

Papa, said a young girl, cupping her hands to take enough water to splash her father. It’s a miracle.

It had been a particularly dry year and neither the girl nor her papa had thought that there would be enough rain this season to engorge the river sufficiently enough so that its flood might reach their tiny farm and quench the thirst of their sunburned crops. Both had been beset with worry, so much so that neither the girl nor her papa had ever once seen the other smile. Such was the spell of misery the drought had brought that even their tears were dry. Or they had been, at least, for the tears that ran down the young girl’s face – and on that of her father too – were tears of happiness as much as they were, tears of relief.

You are right my daughter, said her papa. The gods have blessed us with plentiful rain and a bountiful flood. What a delight to see so much water. Enough for all of our crops. Enough for everyone’s crops. It is a miracle indeed. The gods are smiling. The gods are kind.

The young girl held a single drop of rain in her hands: Charlie. And she looked at him as if he were the greatest gift in the world. And Charlie looked at her in much the same light. The young girl smiled at him, and Charlie smiled back. All his life he had been worried about who he would become, and now, at the end of his journey, it was patently clear.

I was me all along.

Roger and Maria

Once upon a time, there was a big court where two children played, on either end, kicking a ball against a wall: alone, on their own, by themselves. Roger and Maria were their names, and for as long as either one could remember, Maria played on one side of the court while Roger played on the other.

Each and every morning, Roger and Maria did the exact same thing. They jumped out of their beds, scoffed down their cereal, kissed their mums and dads on the cheeks, grabbed their footballs, and ran to the court to play.

And every day, without fail, without question, without ever wondering why, Maria would go to one end of the court and Roger would go to the other. And there they would stay, until their mums and dads called them home, kicking a ball against a wall; alone, on their own, by themselves.

And at the end of the day, just like every day, they’d race home, kiss their mums and dads on the cheek, scoff down their dinner, and then go to their beds, sleeping safe and sound with their footballs on their pillows beside them.

They were the happiest kids in the world, and the court was, by far, their most favourite place to be. It had everything they needed – a ground to keep the ball off and a wall to kick it against. The only other thing was, of course, their footballs, which for Roger and Maria, were more than just bouncy toys; their footballs were their best friends. They didn’t just love playing football, they loved themselves while they were playing it. Nothing in the world made them happier.

Both were exceptionally good players and capable of the most fantastic stunts and tricks. Maria, for example, could kick the ball in the air with her foot over seven hundred and seventy-six times without it ever touching the ground – not once. Not only that, but she could catch it on the back of her neck! That was her special trick.

And Roger, too, was just as good. He could keep the ball off the ground for just as long, except he used his head and his knees; and his special trick