Storms of Misfortune – The Tale of the Swimming iPhone

A chill swept across the campus. We all sensed it; a storm was a-brewing. Nervous eyes cast hesitant glances at the sky, sending up silent prayers to the heavens, begging for a convenient breeze to blow the rain-heavy nimbus clouds away. But alas, it was not to be.

A wind did pick up, but it carried not hope. Instead, the distinct scent of rain floated on the zephyrs, the promise of a despondent storm whispering in the ears of students who wished not to hear it. 

A moment of silence followed; the world, it seemed, was holding its breath, gazes cast to the skies. I was no exception.

Then, a lone raindrop slipped from the endless gray blanket that stretched across the horizon. It fell, silently carrying the news that would shatter the hopes of thousands. Through the vast expanse of space between earth and sky did that raindrop fall. If raindrops had lips, this one would smile with evil purpose, alone but knowing that it would be followed by millions more who would wreak havoc on the helpless students below.

I blinked rapidly at the unexpected drop that splashed cruelly on my pupil. As I wiped my eye, I noted the moisture on my palm with dismay. I dared not to look upwards again; I knew what was coming, and so did the others as they took in my eye laced with fiery red veins.

Across campus, the air rustled with the urgent opening of umbrellas and zipping of raincoats as students everywhere struggled to beat the downpour. Some unfortunate few were too slow, alas.

The rain fell like a curtain, sweeping across campus with all the ferocity of a wildcat, lashing at its victims with icy-cold drops that paralyzed us with a mixture of fear and shock. Dips in the earth became ponds; sidewalks became rivers, and climbing stairs was a daunting ordeal as we navigated around the white-water rapids that spilled down the concrete.

All this to say: I dropped my phone in a puddle. I watched it happen, too, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it.

I can see it so clearly; Clutching my umbrella with a white-knuckled fist in one hand while gripping my jacket together with the other, my hands were tied. My phone flew from my pocket by some supernatural means (I suspect dark magic, or witches at the very least).

Time seemed to slow. My dear phone arced silently towards a particularly large puddle. My heart flew with it. I watched as though from a distance, hearing myself cry out in dismay; “Nooooooooooo!” The hand that wasn’t holding the umbrella released my jacket and stretched out, aching for the comfortable weight of the phone. My fingertips nearly grazed it. Then, with a cacophonous splash that faintly echoed the distant breaking of my heart, my phone met its fate.

Without missing a beat, my outstretched hand snatched the little phone from its watery grave, frantically wiping it against my shirt in a vain attempt to revive it. The pieces of my heart shattered into still smaller shards.

We shall see if the Miracle of the Rice Bag is a true story or not. Stay tuned. In the meantime, I shall splurge and binge on all forms of confections of the chocolate variety, drowning my sorrows in a sea of chocolatey goodness.

Watch out for those puddles, y’all. They’re deadly.


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