RainGods

Lens

Lens

By Mario Paolo Domingo Macariola

2:57 AM

Our eyes pierce through the roof of houses near the creek as if there weren’t any roofs here in the first place, it is dark and here is a neighborhood of identical middle class homes, trimmed lawns, small garages and evenly spaced pine trees—that much we easily determine in perspective. From this bird’s eye view, about twenty meters above, we focus on the most unusual: a bedroom full of water and our eyes scan this picture, there is a submerged queen sized bed, an old floating lampshade, a half submerged wooden desk, grey swivel chair, antique radio, a full length mirror propped up on the wall directly in front of the bed. And two women face down, heads half under water; long fanned out hairs in irregular half circles moving in tiny waves like parasitic organisms; arms frozen in the middle of birdlike flight.

However, the women do not participate in other movements, but we cannot be certain from this distance yet, for any unseen flick of the wrist or shiver of an eyelid would instantly void this half made conclusion, for we cannot even see their faces nor can we know how the water stays so still, should we desire to come closer, we cannot, for we are purely observers and do not participate or control this scene, we are only subject to sight and sound, we can receive these stimuli but the portal of reaction is closed. We are the camera, and the lens focuses on the door, it could mean something but we can only assume.

The scene gradually fills with the coarseness of static streaming from the antique radio and the lens shifts in one blink from the unmoving door to the full length mirror. There we see a young girl slowly turning the radio’s volume knob clockwise. Her face is hidden in thick shadows. We notice how the reflected image is somewhat different, the reflected room is dry with all the original room’s objects steady on their supposed places, but unlike in the first room, it is raining behind the window there, with the two women floating outside the mirror nowhere to be found in that opposing frame and we hear the radio gaining reception bit by bit with its words still garbled as if by thunder and lightning from the storm.

3:58 PM

Slowly opening her eyes, our vision is zoomed in on the iris of a woman’s eye. Her pupil dilates and expands as if her eyes are straining to identify the necessary amount of light. Our vision sluggishly cranes upward and sweeps the area where her hair attaches to the scalp; it is parted in the middle, straight and jet black. It is noticeable how her forehead furrows in and out of perceived thought or uneasiness, again we cannot be sure. Slowly, we hear murmurs gradually increase in volume as our viewpoint takes on her ears.

“It’s just weird…”

“I say its murder”

“Aliens!!!”

And then there was a peal of laughter and giggles. It is here that we can derive that she is either eavesdropping or just unconsciously hearing the words. Without haste, the camera draws back and shows the young woman sitting on a plastic armchair behind a group of two girls and a young man intent on their conversation about something that appears to be of relevance. Near the white board sits the professor reading his lesson plan. The young man in front of Therese cranes his head back in one swift motion.

“Hey Therese, the twins were your neighbors right?” He asks, his voice was husky.

“Uh… yeah”   Therese replied as she fiddles with the hem of her blouse, she touches her left cheek with a puzzled expression.

“Why?”   Therese said again.

“We heard that they disappeared too… same thing as with the others”