I'm perfect. My genetics were modified from the moment of my inception to make me the best I can be while a pure human. I live on Mars, the planet that never rains.
But every one hundred years, that changes.
I stood with my parents. "Stay inside. You don't want to get wet. You'll fall, and you can't fall." My father told me. He was perfect, too. I shrugged. Today would be a day where I would stay inside. That didn't bother me. I would be perfect, like always.
Soon, I heard raindrops pattering on my window. The normally harsh outdoors was covered with rain. It was a pleasurable experience. The rhythm of the rain and the dark sky was perplexing to me. Part of me even wanted to go outside. But I knew I couldn't.
I walked down the hall, away from the rain. It was a vile thing, despite my curiosity. The rain would make me fall. And I couldn't fall.
I looked at the vase I painted. It stood upright. It had never fallen ever since I had painted it. It was perfect. The plates in the shelves never cracked. They stayed perfect. The wooden chair by the dining room table was never knocked down. It happened to be perfect. It was a deep fact I couldn't deny as I walked to my bedroom. Yet, I could never escape the rain. I heard it, the deathly drumbeats staring me down, just waiting for me to go outside like part of me wanted to do, just waiting for me to fall.
But I couldn't fall. I was perfect. I ran to my bed, which was made again. The toys in my room were stacked neatly, and put away. The paintings on my wall weren't even the slightest bit angled or tilted. My mind started to wonder, as the rhythm of raindrops still followed me around: how could it be this perfect? What were the chances of every part of my house and every part of my life being perfect?
More questions dripped down my head. What would it like to be imperfect? Would I be better? How were people happy when they weren't perfect?
There must be answers. I looked outside of my window. There were so many other imperfect things than falling. Dancing, yelling, singing, laughing, all imperfect. I felt imperfect just thinking about doing them. Curiosity was imperfect. I only knew what I knew, and I had to accept that.
Yet, I couldn't. I checked my clock, the time being accurate to the second. I had three minutes left before the rains ended. I ran to my closet, but I knew I didn't have a raincoat with me, unlike all the stereotypical earth-movies. I ran downstairs, to see my father.
"What's the ruckus, my perfect girl?" He smiled. I gave a short smile back. I needed to get outside. I would never go to Earth otherwise. "Nothing that pertains to you." I responded.
He frowned. Perfect people never frown. Something was off. He had just broken the very rules that defined our lives. "You're going out into the rain, aren't you." I stopped. Perfect people listen to authority. Besides, who would ever want to run out into the rain? They'd fall, and perfect people never fall.
"You can't fall. You can't go out there. You can't step in the rain. Do you hear me?" His voice was crystal clear. Yet my feet had their own decision.
I ran. I ran out the door, and into the rain. It soaked my clothes, touching every part of my hair and face. It had got to me. I remembered my fear of the rain. It seemed distant. The rain wasn't terrible. It wasn't anything to fear, even for a perfect person. As I walked on the empty street, I started to laugh, and smile, and dance. It had happened. I was wet. The rain had gotten to me.
Then, I fell. Perfect people never fall. I realized. The pain hurt, but it was new. I'd never felt this before. I got up, stronger than before. The fear started to dissipait. And I was left alone, dancing in the rain.
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