@kingdonmicrofic
aug. 20 -> thunderstorm (279/279)
When Mel was eight years old, she learned how to predict impending storms. The seconds between lightning strikes, the vicinity of crackling thunder, strength of the wind that licked the trees in their little backyard. She knew when it was time to get inside ā when the sprinkles of rain grew thicker, heavier, and her father would groan, stretching his stiff, aching joints, telling her, Alright, Mellie. You can watch the rest from inside.
She loved the sound of rain pittering against the glass. The rolling clouds, dense and dark in the dimming sky. The whistle of wind that seeped in through a tiny crack in her bedroom window, like a sweet lullaby, wishing her goodnight as she buried herself beneath the covers.
When Mel was fifteen years old, a rogue thunderstorm had swept through her small town and claimed her fatherās life. An act of God, the insurance broker had said. As if the deity itself had thrown that tree trunk right in her fatherās path to tear their family apart.Ā
Warm summer nights werenāt the same without him. There wasnāt anyone to tell Mel it was time to come inside when the rain got too heavy.
When Mel was twenty-eight years old, she said goodbye to her mentor beneath dim streetlights. Rain dripped from his dark hair, exhaustion clinging deep within his bones. He wouldnāt be coming back, heād said, but he wouldnāt forget his least problematic trainee.Ā
She couldnāt distinguish the tears that rolled down her cheeks from the raindrops but it didnāt matter. She was fifteen all over again, standing still, watching the storm carry away the first thing sheād cared about after all those years.
