lightning
title: lightning
word count: 618
summary: there was a thunderstorm
lightning terrifies her.
it lights up the darkened corners of the room in brief moments of clarity and exposes every shadow lurking behind and beneath every object and around every corner. lightning can make a night sky seem like daytime, for only a split second. the disorientation of the sudden light before being plunged back into pitch darkness is impossible to get used to and all too horrifying.
it's almost as if the following thunder exists just to remind her: "hey. you're alive. that flash there - that wasn't dying. you're still alive."
and she'll go hide under her blankets where the lightning can't burn into her memory but the thunder can continue reminding her at broken intervals, "hey. hey, hey, hey. you're alive."
she can't ignore the thunder. it's loud and almost seems to shake the ground. when she doesn't pay enough attention, the raindrops violently rapping against the roof and the windows will increase and their voices will rise in a crescendo. "you're still alive."
lightning terrifies her. but sometimes, she'll throw the blanket aside and tiptoe to the window. she'll flinch at each unexpected burst of light but patiently count the seconds between the clarity and the reassurance. all until it gets too cold, or her heart jumping in fear at every flash gets too much.
then she'll run to the bathroom and shy away from the windows whenever the lightning casts eerie shadows across her path and she'll be too scared to flush the toilet (afraid of waking someone up). her heart will be pounding in some strange combination of fear and shock but her mind will be repeating, "this is ridiculous. you counted. the lightning is so far away, you have nothing to worry about."
truthfully, it's not the lightning itself that scares her. when she watches it out the window, it's with a sort of fascination and unadulterated awe as the clouds shift from white to blue to purple to black so fast she'd miss it if she blinked.
it's the impending, unavoidable fear that she'll see something she doesn't want to. when she was younger, it was a monster. some imaginary silhouette inspired by long nightmares and daydreams. as she got older, the silhouette shifted into the shape of a human, as she learned that humanity's enemy is humanity itself. a species where some have no problem murdering their own. an anomaly in the animal kingdom in so many ways.
she's afraid of seeing someone else in the room with her, illuminated by the clarity brought on by lightning.
that's why she needs the thunder.
"hey, it's okay. you're still alive."
maybe one day, the lightning will do exactly what she's terrified it will. and maybe she won't even be able to hear the thunder's reassurance.
she hopes that she'd go quickly, in the spare seconds between the lightning and the thunder.
she wonders how many people heard the thunder's persistent message as they lay dying from whatever the lightning brought on.
the lightning will never lie, but the thunder has always had a sort of blind, stupid hope.
(once, she'd been woken up at four in the morning to see a lightning storm. lightning flashed at irregular intervals, striking something far, far away, but the light still reached her. no sound did. the lightning cleared the room again and again, but the thunder didn't say a thing. even the rain retreated away, somewhere else.)
maybe that's how she'll go instead. abandoned by those she trusted, and only shown the way to the end by the very same one she'd been so afraid of.
at least lightning has the courtesy to give back all the senses, if only for a moment.
it's 2am and i'm tired and there was a thunderstorm so
word count: 618
summary: there was a thunderstorm
lightning terrifies her.
it lights up the darkened corners of the room in brief moments of clarity and exposes every shadow lurking behind and beneath every object and around every corner. lightning can make a night sky seem like daytime, for only a split second. the disorientation of the sudden light before being plunged back into pitch darkness is impossible to get used to and all too horrifying.
it's almost as if the following thunder exists just to remind her: "hey. you're alive. that flash there - that wasn't dying. you're still alive."
and she'll go hide under her blankets where the lightning can't burn into her memory but the thunder can continue reminding her at broken intervals, "hey. hey, hey, hey. you're alive."
she can't ignore the thunder. it's loud and almost seems to shake the ground. when she doesn't pay enough attention, the raindrops violently rapping against the roof and the windows will increase and their voices will rise in a crescendo. "you're still alive."
lightning terrifies her. but sometimes, she'll throw the blanket aside and tiptoe to the window. she'll flinch at each unexpected burst of light but patiently count the seconds between the clarity and the reassurance. all until it gets too cold, or her heart jumping in fear at every flash gets too much.
then she'll run to the bathroom and shy away from the windows whenever the lightning casts eerie shadows across her path and she'll be too scared to flush the toilet (afraid of waking someone up). her heart will be pounding in some strange combination of fear and shock but her mind will be repeating, "this is ridiculous. you counted. the lightning is so far away, you have nothing to worry about."
truthfully, it's not the lightning itself that scares her. when she watches it out the window, it's with a sort of fascination and unadulterated awe as the clouds shift from white to blue to purple to black so fast she'd miss it if she blinked.
it's the impending, unavoidable fear that she'll see something she doesn't want to. when she was younger, it was a monster. some imaginary silhouette inspired by long nightmares and daydreams. as she got older, the silhouette shifted into the shape of a human, as she learned that humanity's enemy is humanity itself. a species where some have no problem murdering their own. an anomaly in the animal kingdom in so many ways.
she's afraid of seeing someone else in the room with her, illuminated by the clarity brought on by lightning.
that's why she needs the thunder.
"hey, it's okay. you're still alive."
maybe one day, the lightning will do exactly what she's terrified it will. and maybe she won't even be able to hear the thunder's reassurance.
she hopes that she'd go quickly, in the spare seconds between the lightning and the thunder.
she wonders how many people heard the thunder's persistent message as they lay dying from whatever the lightning brought on.
the lightning will never lie, but the thunder has always had a sort of blind, stupid hope.
(once, she'd been woken up at four in the morning to see a lightning storm. lightning flashed at irregular intervals, striking something far, far away, but the light still reached her. no sound did. the lightning cleared the room again and again, but the thunder didn't say a thing. even the rain retreated away, somewhere else.)
maybe that's how she'll go instead. abandoned by those she trusted, and only shown the way to the end by the very same one she'd been so afraid of.
at least lightning has the courtesy to give back all the senses, if only for a moment.
it's 2am and i'm tired and there was a thunderstorm so