The now not so distant crash drew nearer, still.
And our protagonist remembered in himself that ancient fear. An inheritance left to him by his ancestors, who once looked to the dancing lights above in awe, only to withdraw to their caves in deference to the echoing roar.
His own childhood trauma of counting down the beats between flash emerged from time.
To think of thunder as a rolling drum, rather than the crashing footsteps of a behemoth, bent on crushing an innocent child.
One mississippi. Two mississippi. Three mississippi. Four-
Again. Closer than than it was before.
Closer himself to childhood than he'd been in decades.
A grown babe, clutching at anything to fight off a world bigger than himself.
No shelter from the noise.
No parents to stop the storm.
Nothing.
A child. A storm. And nothing else.
No comments:
Post a Comment