Before The Rain - By Jessica Rusch

Written By: Jessica Rusch

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the compelling short story "Before The Rain," Jessica Rusch invites readers into a world of quiet determination and subtle resilience. As part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this piece stands out for its vivid imagery and emotional depth. The narrative, set against the backdrop of an impending storm, explores themes of hope, loss, and renewal. Rusch's storytelling captures the essence of perseverance, making it a noteworthy entry in this year's competition.

About the Work

"Before The Rain" is a testament to Jessica Rusch's masterful storytelling. The narrative unfolds with a tense yet tender atmosphere, capturing the struggle and eventual triumph of life. Through evocative imagery and a deeply introspective tone, Rusch explores the complexities of hope and the unexpected nature of life's rewards. Her prose is both lyrical and grounded, offering readers a rich tapestry of emotions that resonate long after the story concludes.

Before The Rain

Original Submission by Jessica Rusch

Before the Rain

Shortly after midnight the cow started to struggle.

Jessica discovered her under the thorn tree, breathing heavily and raising her tail. The torchlight touched two small hooves that had slipped away.

“Schorsch,” she called.

He pulled his jacket over his pyjamas and came from the house. Neither Jessica nor Schorsch had to say what they were thinking; they took the ropes used for calving and a bucket of warm water.

The rain had been forecast for weeks. Each afternoon clouds gathered above the Khomas Hochland, darkened, and then moved off without leaving even a single damp stone.

The air smelled different tonight.

Jessica crouched behind the cow, and dust worked through her trousers and settled on her knees.

“She said that both feet were there.”

“That’s something.”

She did not like the sentence at once.

At the hospital, people also spoke in small, careful portions.

There are two.

They are developing.

That is something.

People had always been told how much hope she had in millimetres, hormone levels, and days; heartbreak, too, was presented as a number on a page.

She turned the rope around the first hoof.

The phone in the house started to ring and the sound went through the open window and across the yard.

It would be one of the lads. They often forgot that the farm signal had its own moods: sometimes their voices came through clearly, and sometimes the signal broke up so badly that each conversation sounded like a farewell.

“Would you answer?” Schorsch asked Jessica.

“They’ll call again.”

They pulled together as the cow strained.

Nothing.

The animal turned its head in Jessica's direction. In the torchlight, her eye was black, huge, and charging.

"I know," Jessica whispered, "I'm making an effort."

The wind passed through the thorn tree and at some point beyond the kraal a loose piece of corrugated iron struck against a shed.

The phone stopped ringing.

A message came a moment later, and the small sound seemed unfairly cheerful.

Schorsch adjusted the rope. "Once more."

They pulled.

For a terrible second Jessica sensed the calf moving backwards.

“No.”

She gripped the rope more tightly until it burned her palms.

She used to think that if you wanted something badly enough, it gained importance in the world; that prayer, effort, and love built up over time; and that life would eventually have to notice all she had put into it.

But life was a bad bookkeeper.

It lost receipts.

It misplaced names.

It shut down accounts without giving any notice.

“Wait,” Schorsch said, “the shoulder is caught.”

He knelt beside her and slowly inserted his hand into the cow. As he worked, she watched his face change: first concentration, then worry, then the controlled calm he used when fear tended to make things worse.

Jessica knew that face.

She had seen it in hospital rooms, in legal offices, and at kitchen tables piled with documents, whenever there was nothing more to say.

“Now,” he said.

The cow pushed.

They pulled.

The calf slipped onto the ground in a rush of fluid and silence.

Jessica dropped the rope and crept towards the calf. She removed the membrane from the calf’s nose and rubbed its chest with both hands.

Nothing happened.

“Come on.”

She rubbed harder.

Schorsch got down next to her, but he didn't interfere.

The calf was lying between them, wet and amazingly still.

Jessica bent in until she could feel the calf’s breath.

There was none.

Within her, something old opened up—not quite a wound, but a room she had kept shut since she already knew all that was in the room.

“No,” she said again.

Then the calf coughed.

It was a little ugly noise.

Jessica gave herself a sudden push backwards and nearly toppled over. The calf coughed again, shook its head, and drew its first breath.

The mother rose unevenly and started to lick the calf with long, urgent strokes.

Schorsch placed his muddy hand on Jessica’s back.

For a few minutes they said nothing.

The first raindrops hit the leaves above them.

Jessica turned her gaze towards the house and saw it still faintly glowing through the window.

She then opened the message from the boys.

The voice message was full of shouts and laughter as the boys argued over who had won the game; one of them called out to his father while the other shouted Jessica’s name directly into the microphone, drawing it out into several unnecessary syllables.

She played it twice.

On her return to the yard, the calf was trying to stand, its legs bending in all directions as if the calf had never been told how they were arranged.

What should we name her? Schorsch asked.

Jessica watched the small animal fall, then rest and try once more.

She considered names she had never used before, names written down privately, said once, and then tucked away at the back of a drawer with appointment cards and empty medicine boxes.

“Not tonight,” she said.

The rain grew heavier.

The dust on Schorsch’s shoulders grew darker, and thin red lines appeared on Jessica’s palms where the rope had cut them.

At last the calf stood up.

It was standing badly—shivering, bewildered, and alive.

She did not regard it as a sign, having already given up on asking the world to turn ordinary things into messages meant specifically for her.

Next to its mother was only a calf.

The only thing that happened was rain falling on a dry farm. Next to Jessica there was only her husband and three noisy voices on her phone. Nothing.

None of it replaced what had been lost.

But for that night, it was enough to walk back to the house without feeling that she had left herself behind.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform for writers worldwide to showcase their creativity and talent. This annual event celebrates diverse voices and innovative storytelling, inviting participants to share their unique perspectives through poetry, short stories, and creative writing. It is a vibrant space fostering literary excellence and artistic expression.

Hashtag Kalakar extends its heartfelt thanks to Jessica Rusch for her poignant contribution, "Before The Rain," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her narrative of resilience and renewal has touched us profoundly, and we are grateful for her participation. We look forward to seeing more of her evocative storytelling in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.