καταιγίδα

There -- in the back of my throat, hard against the warm, soft fleshiness, trickling down to my stomach and settling like a weigh.

My limbs tangle half in sheets, half in the air. Thunder sounds far away, confusedly outside or in my mind, and I stretch nearly imperceptibly to search for the drum outside.

This is the beginning.

The thunder is the longest drawl I've ever heard, longer than a full day's tides washing ashore. I don't have to guess at its presence any longer, for the waves slither through the night with the sensuous tread of a snake. They draw themselves out in lines.

A flash of lightning illuminates the trees, and the air holds its breath, tremulous.

Staccato bursts of thunder shatter the night, interspersed with lightning like hot peppers or chili flakes thrown to the air. They burn my breath, catching in my throat, choking me, and while I try to inhale, exhale, calm, feel less of the lightning and the thunder--a slash of white cracks the sky. My heads aches from it, and my skin shies from the roll of energy that fills the cracks left behind. The sky spills out of itself, breaking away from infinity.

In the deepening night, the lightning cools to a glow. A soft rain like static replaces the thunder, and I sleep.