It's Raining, It's Pouring

Note: This short story is based on the nursery rhyme “It’s raining, it’s pouring”.
If you have never heard of this rhyme, it is suggested that you look it up so you know what I’m talking about.
I’ve always found nursery rhymes to be quite amusing, much more interesting than the typical overused stories we find in every little crack and corner of this world. Some may find that they are purely insignificant tales of someone’s over-active imagination. I, however, believe otherwise. Every story has a meaning, every action has a purpose. You might find if you put you mind to it, that some of these little fairy-tales are quite profound. Enjoy~


It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring~

Roused by the echoing splatters of the heavy downfall, the elderly man decided to get up and fetch a warm glass of milk. He sluggishly made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, unaware of what awaited him. In the kitchen, he passed several of his grandchildren lounging on the couch, fast asleep and exhausted from a day’s hard work. Cookies and glasses of milk were scattered across the table, too many sweets before bed will cause unrest. But the old man did not care, for he was too tired to be kept up by a measly sweet. So, he grabbed a cookie and poured a glass of milk.
Slowly, he shuffled back to his room, a cookie in hand and a glass in the other. Despite the rain, the warmth of the house pushed into him, cradling and lulling him to sleep. The milk will go bad if I don’t finish it, he thought. So he took a swig and drained half his cup. As he entered his room, he placed the cookie on top the glass. Tomorrow, he decided. I have no taste for sweets tonight. So the aged old man climbed into bed, lazily flipping his sheets over, and blew out the candle with a quick breath of air. Clunk. The glass had fallen, caught in the path of the bed sheets. He cursed silently, and left his bedside once more. In the dark, he saw nothing but the faint silhouette of his furniture. Not a problem, he thought, his sleep wearing off. He stepped out from his bed; confident he didn’t need vision to navigate throughout his small chamber. He stepped out and slipped, caught totally off guard by the soggy cookie drowned in milk on the floor.
His head pounded during his final moments of consciousness, bits of cookie stuck to his heel. He made not a sound, as the rain drowned out any hopes of rescue, any chance that one of the many children would be roused by the thud of his fall. The old man, worn by age and as fragile as glass rested on the floor. He didn’t feel any pain, or his limbs. He saw nothing but darkness, slowly closing in his crippled body. He heard only the splatter of rain outside his window.

… He went to bed and bumped his head, and he couldn't get up in the morning~

The above is a copy 'n paste of my grade 8 work for this online writing program we did. It (along with all the other pieces) got reviewed by a 'famous' author' who I've yet to hear about. He liked it, so I thought I'd post it here 8D