About a drop by Helene Zarina

A drop really wanted to have a name. She was an average water substance like millions of other nameless drops. Nobody ever wondered where drops come from and where they go. Just to be was enough. But the curious drop wanted to be different, and so she shaped herself in many ways. She reflected the sun, or a carved leaf of weed, or a coloured fishtail, and it seemed to her that she was absolutely different from other drops. The drop lived in the sea, sometimes she soared up into the sky, hovered there within a cloud, and then rushed homeward in the rain.

The drop had quite a calm and settled life, but it seemed to her that she could do more. She wanted to have a name. She heard that everything distinguishing has a name. She wanted to be distinguished. She didn’t know why, what for, but she dreamt of being something else….

One day, when she was doing her luxuriant fringe in a downy cloud, she talked to the wind. The drop shared her dreams and lamented over her dissatisfaction of drops’ simple daily routine. The wind sniffed, having accidentally bent all the trees around, and said, “Yes, there is another way.” And he brought the drop to the land. Soon it rained, drop’s luxuriant fringe got wet, and the drop found herself in a puddle.

In the end the wind said strange words, “It’s only the beginning of your earth life. And soon you’ll have a name!” Then the drop floated some funny box with a piece of paper on it, which the boys called a ship. Although the drop knew for sure what real ships look like, she didn’t argue because she liked boys’ voices and laughter very much. 

Then she mixed herself with clay and looked very unlike her former self; clinging to the bottom of homemade frigate, she moved to somebody’s yard. There the frigate was thrown under the shrub and the drop slowly slipped down into the grass…  she was half-dry and very slender. The drop began to look for her source – the sea, but it was nowhere to be seen. She was all alone… Panic pierced all her hydrogen-oxygen molecules. “Soon I’ll die having neither a name nor fame… No one will ever think of me! The wind must have laughed at poor me!” the drop cried, withering herself by sullen melancholy.

A small dewdrop heard drop’s anguish. 

“It’s vital to find a root – go into the ground!” said the dewdrop in a silver voice. 

“Into the ground? Do you want to bury me? I am a light sea drop! I used to reflect the sun!”

“But to get a name you need to do something!” The drop didn’t have time to argue, so she dived to look for a root.

Soon she heard that she was called a Rose. She didn’t know if it was good or bad, but she heard the name often and it was always followed by delight and adoration. “Good heavens! I’m a Rose! That’s the name given to me!” she thought somehow embarrassed when she remembered her hard lonely way from the very root to the graceful petal.