[Sam260]

Rain... It used to be something that one looked forward too.  It used to cool down hot summer days, replenish and nourish lawns that had been lain dormant for the winter.  It used to just be a fun thing to go out and run into when you were a kid, having all the fun in the world.  Now?  Now rain was just constant.  Never-Ending.  Relentless.  There were certain things about rain that even Forrest didn't even know existed.  Like that rain could come in all different directions.  He used to think it only came downwards, from the sky, but then his views on rain, and how it fell, all changed.

    Vietnam, it was June 27th, 1956 when Forrest Clark's numbers were called.  He had thought, when the war started, that seven months later he wouldn't have been called to action, but things happened.  He remembered the day so vividly.  He and his father had been sat out on the back porch of his childhood home, a place he was very fond of, had spent his entire life in.  They were enjoying a drink together and just chatting, listening to the radio.  The announcement came in the middle of his and Connor's -his father- favorite song, interrupting that do-wop they loved so dearly.  They listened to the broadcast like their lives depended on it, their hopes were that the war was over, that they no longer had to see off friends, family, and others they loved.  However, their dreams, their hopes, they were shattered when it was declared that another drawing was to occur, that more able bodied men would be called to action.  They sat and they prayed.  They sat and they listened.  Their hearts broke even further when Forrest's numbers were called.  Their bottles dropped and the two men, father and son, embraced, held each other for dear life as they cried into one another's shoulders.

    Forrest sighed as he wiped the rain from his face... Or was it his tears?  Honestly he had no idea anymore.  He was sat up against a tree in the middle of the Vietnam rainforest -ironic name, wasn't it?-.  There was a tarp hung up over head but it only did so much to protect you when rain just relentlessly battered down over your heads.  He was sat under said tree with a few friends he had made whilst being over here.  The young Corporal was attempting to write a letter to his father, but the words -or lack thereof- seemed unwilling to come out.  He sighed and shoved his stationary pad -an old notebook- into his pack and just laid back "I'm tired of rain... I'm tired of being cold and wet." It was the middle of summer, and yet he was freezing all of the time. Slowly, Forrest looked over at the young man sat beside him "How're you holding up today?"  He was in a group of young men, all between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two, the only person who was older than all of them was their captain.  The young man beside him, he found rather attractive, though he knew he shouldn't have; he simply just could not help himself "Having any luck writing a letter today?  I seem to be at a loss on what to say... I'm sure I've said it all a dozen times, and nothings changed..."