Musing: The Umbrella

Sometimes I wonder how much rain an umbrella can stand before it just
snaps.
Surely there is some point when the rain just becomes so heavy, and the umbrella so soaked that it finally sighs and says, "I've had enough."
That moment when the final liquid bullet loses its shape and collides into it, and the umbrella knows that it is done stinging for another. For good.
And then it willfully collapses, and all of the dirty water that it has protected from its owner
pours, splashes, cascades upon, drenches, and drowns the greedy owner.
As he chokes on the brown water, he painfully gurgles to the voluntarily broken instrument, "Why?"
The broken umbrella does not respond, and the rain continues to pour.
Oh, how it stings.

...And that is called "revenge."