by Dillon Tinsley

Created on: October 17, 2009

Lightning

He woke with a start from the crushing crash of thunder. A flash of lightning and his bedroom was flooded in a pool of white dangerous light. The rain was pounding on the roof. It would have been quite relaxing if it weren't for the thunder and lightning.

He knew he couldn't fall back asleep so he got up and looked at the clock ticking towards three a.m. With a sigh he slid out of bed and slipped his feet into his slippers. He turned and folded the covers back to make the bed. The scuffing of his slippers on the hard cold wooden floor was momentarily drowned out by another clap of thunder. He reached his closet and pulled out his robe and put it on. He shuffled along the hallway to the kitchen, his red velvet slippers barely leaving the floor.

He took the glass pot and filled it with water and poured it into the coffee maker. Scooping a bit of coffee into the filter, he turned it on. He then realized he was still in the dark. Scuffling over to the light switch, he flicked it on. He was momentarily blinded and was immediately thrown back into darkness with a loud explosion that meant a transformer blew, and the power was no longer to be relied on. He took one look at the coffee pot, sighed again and decided he'd just reuse it when the power came back on in the morning instead of wasting it.

He went into the living room and saw it basking in another bolt of lightning, followed by a roll of thunder so loud it shook the old house. He was passing the hallway and noticed the door to the bathroom was open. He dragged his red velvet slippers to the door and closed it shaking his head; she had always hated the bathroom door being open. His red and white pinstriped robe was wrapped around him as he meandered back to the living room to sit in his favorite rocking chair that, like him, was still young, but had been through far too much.

He wallowed in his weariness as he sat there rocking, hoping the movement would settle him to sleep, even with the murderous thunderstorm hanging over his head. He sat there in the dark, not even bothering to find a candle, just rocking for some time.

He began to think about his wife; how she left without saying goodbye two weeks ago to go to work and never returned. She was still missing, but he had a problem admitting either side: that she was dead or alive. He wouldn't commit. He couldn't commit. He couldn't stand swaying to one side and then end up being proved wrong. Her silky blonde hair still gleamed in the sunlight in

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