#corn aesthetic

The land is flat, fields empty, too early in the season for anything to grow. An alert comes across your phone—tornado watch. The sky threatens rain, but so far, the dark clouds above have only produced lightning bolts that arc across the sky. You’ve weathered your fair share of storms before, hurricanes and nor’easters, but none in a place like this, vacant and open.

Yellow green. They call it a tornado sky.

You sit in the backseat of your friend’s Honda, waiting in the drive thru of a truck stop Arby’s, hungry from your time on the road. Beside the car, a dying light flickers almost rhythmically. You can’t look at it for too long. As you order nuggets, your friend compliments the cashier’s hair. Pull to the curb, she says, I’ll get you a fresh batch of fries, thank you, you’re welcome, have a nice night.

The car drifts forward and stops.

You hear her.

She’s quiet. If you think too hard, her voice disappears. As you wait in the flickering light, wind buffeting the vehicle as the sky decides how much damage it wants to unleash, she sings: