The afternoon was shadowed by building clouds. A stillness in the wind felt uncertain, like the air could run away at any moment. The world was quiet.
In the distance a deep amber flicker boiled inside the approaching thunderhead. A faint rumble followed several seconds later; carried by gusts of a cool but angry wind and bearing the smell of rain. He turned and walked into the small house, locking himself behind a wooden door and vinyl clad walls.
As the minutes wore on, the rumbling grew to an angry booming. The battle drums of the gods beating down on the house. The juvenile gusts of wind matured into howling swirls that racked the house and made it creak and pop inside the walls. The yellowish glow of the lights blinked with the power surges. The man gathered his family and retreated further within the matchstick walls. They huddled in a closet under a mattress. In half an hour the weatherman would call the mattress “debris”.
The crescendo of sound was amplified by the sudden darkness as the light gave way to the storm. Nails screamed as they were torn from the shingles and boards. Wood cracked and splintered. Somewhere in the din, children cried for protection. They cried for their mother’s embrace and their father’s strength. Their muffled pleas were blended into the “debris” and carried to the heavens where they fell on deaf ears.
As the front passed the world was rendered asunder. First-responders saw a horrific scene and concluded from the downpour from the sky that the god’s themselves were crying. The truth is, there were no hearts behind the tears. In the end the world would see…
It was only rain.