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Writer's pictureTamara Haddock

The storm

It was storming when I came home from work last night.


I loved it.


The storm felt like part of me. I wanted to lie on the ground and let the water soak into my soul. I felt the rumble of the thunder in my heart. Each lightning flash showed me the midnight world daylight bright. It opened my stinging eyes, and showed me the beauty of empty streets and sleep-shadowed houses, then plunged me back into comforting darkness.


The water hit my skin cold and ran down until it was as hot as tears. Crying for nothing and everything saying things that I don't have the words for in the way only divinity can.

I walked through the stream forming in my driveway and felt it rushing through my shoes, cold currents going toward the unknown forever.


I wanted to go with it, to see what was on the other side of where the water runs. Carving its own path through my life, not caring that I was in that path, it swirled around my feet soaking into my skin, reminding me that it is part of me and I am part of it.


I wondered what it'd be like to be struck by lightning. Our thoughts are lightning in our minds, hitting secret notes that make us who we are. I wondered what it would be like to be struck by lightning.


I wondered how it would feel to have all the neurons that hold all my thoughts at once. Would it be like being everything you have ever been and will ever be at once? Would it be like being alive, or would it be like burning all the future life to be lived at once? Could I see the faces of unknown divinities at that moment? Before the lightning took me with it? Could it become part of that storm and leave this body behind?


For a moment I wanted to.



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