1. Heather Louise

    Heather Louise Contributing Member Contributor

    Dec 10, 2006
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    the storm

    Discussion in 'Image Story Contest' started by Heather Louise, Jun 24, 2007.

    ok, so it does not begin at the picture, but is based on it. it is 672 words loing.

    I sit on my window sill as I write this, my windows thrown wide open and the smell of rain infecting my nostrils. I know many people would say that rain doesn’t smell, but it does. It smells like life, like something new and exciting, like the beginning of new pastures and the end of the old. I like the rain, and I love a storm.
    It is stormy now actually, or about to become stormy. I can feel it, just like a mother feels her baby inside the womb, I can feel the storm approaching. My storm. A storm that they created just for me. It hasn’t rained properly in weeks, months even, and there hasn’t been a great storm for nearly three years. But today was the day, the day to break all others.
    Outside the rain is bouncing off pavement, windows and doors, springing to life in the air and dancing to the ground. It is mesmerising the way that it hits of the extension roof and slides down to the earth below, trickling and running and flowing everywhere. The garden below has become waterlogged and is starting to flood, and the neighbour’s water feature is overflowing.
    Finally, the first clap of thunder. I smile to myself, showing my teeth to the grey sky. It is only three in the afternoon but already the world is dark and cold. Goosebumps line my legs and arms, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I watch the scene in front of me. Another thunder clap, and another and another. Then an almighty roar followed by a flash of lighting. It is time to go outside.
    I run downstairs and out into the rain. It soaks through my clothes and into my skin, cleansing me and making me whole. Running, I cross the road and jump into the farmer’s field opposite my house. Still running, rain splattered crops tickling and scraping my legs, my feet stinging from the cold and hard floor. I get to the spot, right in the middle of the open field where nothing but rain can reach me. Peeling my top form my body I shudder as the freezing air hits my naked skin. It feels wonderful. I continue to undress, until I am stood without a scrap of clothing on my body, just me and the storm.
    A flash of lighting pulses through the air, brightening the once dark day. It floods my sight with light, and the thunder adds to the effect. Then, a fork of lighting, tearing through the sky like a knife through butter. It surges down to the ground, striking off a little building only a few hundred yards away. The storm is coming closer, soon it will be overhead.
    I dance, under the rain, being one with the elements. It is infectious, the feeling of cold water bouncing off your body and soaking into your mind. I laugh loud, in fits of hysterics even, and I bask in the glory of my creation. For I created this storm, it is mine and I own it. People will laugh, but I know it is my storm. Closer the lighting gets to me, lashing off the ground like a whip. Thunder echoes through the sky so that only I can hear it. It is coming for me. Another whip of lighting, coming down close to me, onto me. It hits me, sending my body flying back into the sodden earth. Fiery electricity surges through my body, making its way through my heart and my lungs and my brain, making me one with it. I am the lighting. I am the conqueror. I am the untouchable.
    I stand up as the rain begins to calm and the lighting disappears. The thunder seems quieter now, like it has moved, passed on from me. But it has done its job well, it has transformed me.
    Standing there with my hair dripping with rain, and water running down my bare skin, I feel alive.
  2. Charisma

    Charisma Transposon Contributor

    Jul 23, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Lahore, Pakistan
    Dead Soul

    Accidental post

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