Sophia stared solemnly at her hands.  There was nothing unusual or specifically special concerning them; they were excruciatingly normal at the moment.  Five fingers, petite palms, trimmed fingernails, sweat around her cuticles- they were unextraordinary.  

She always thought that her hands could dictate quite a bit about herself.  The way they were gripped, the lines around her fingers and palms, how gritty her nails were, the amount and length of hair on the back, how pale her knuckles were- she felt as though she could reveal far too much about herself by displaying her hands for the world to see.

That was one reason why she always covered them.  

One.

There was another reason of course, but that one would raise much more concern to people if she elaborated.

She remembered the wet and thunder-filled nights of Columbia when she was a little girl.  She adored playing outside in the puddles and dancing in the moonlight, despite how much her mother would complain that she would get sick.

She did always end up getting sick, but that didn’t really matter to her.

Rather, she would admire every little droplet that fell on her cheeks, sticking out her tongue in order to taste what she believed was mother nature’s abundant love.

That was, until her grandmother passed away.

On the night of her death, as she sat outside of their house, she noticed that is seemed to rain more that day.

Yet, this time, it did not seem like mother nature was providing her with such plentiful appreciation.  It was not a symbol of her kindness and generosity.

It was spite.  It was contempt.  It was her laughing at Sophia for taking her grandmother away from her.  

It was mean.

As Sophia cried on her porch, pain and turmoil engulfing all parts of her mind, body, and soul like a powerful tsunami, she began to feel the ground tremble beneath her.

She picked up a rock sitting next to her and threw it at the ground, as if to quiet it.  How could she focus on some earthquake when she had lost one of the dearest people in her life?  How could she even dare to contemplate hiding or leaving when her own loved one didn’t have the opportunity to live longer?  It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair-

She felt the earth split a loud and thunderous crack in the ground surrounding her, beginning from the very spot where she threw the rock.  

Plants, insects, stones, toys- all began to fall down into the large pit that began to form.

As it grew and grew in size, she began to hear screams and yelps around the community, children crying, full grown adults yelling and running- this was not a normal earthquake.

After that night, every single time she cried, something similar would happen.

Her mother always used to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, that it was a coincidence and that she was imagining things.

But Sophia knew in her heart that both her and her mother understood that this wasn’t coincidental.

Sophia wore gloves every single day after that night.  She wasn’t sure how much it seemed to help, but it gave her at least some form of peace that could let her sleep at night.