Jacob Bragen


As I lay on my bunk, I listened to the rain outside; the sounds of it hitting the trees and rocks around me. A small, old wooden cabin was my shelter. I had laid there in the same spot for hours, tossing, turning, waiting for sleep to come. However, up until that moment, I hadn’t stopped to listen to the rain. The pitter-patter of the drops on the old, worn out roof reminded me of times when I was younger, when I used to lie in bed during rain storms. I thought about how I would hide under the covers, terrified of the deep boom of thunder and the spastic, bright flash of lightning. As I thought about these things, I became more and more relaxed. I stopped tossing and turning. The light in the cabin started to fade. The sounds of rain lessened and became almost distant. As I lay there on my back, the thoughts of home left my mind and turned into dreams.


Copyright 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.