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Slow, and thick, looming over the back-forty like uncombed wool. Pressing the hot, wet air out from under its feet, blowing it in fits through the aspens. They ruffle their feathers gleefully and whisper like school children.
     Summer thunderstorms - erratic, humid, gusting, mercurial, warm, driven.

     Sounds like me.

     Perhaps that is why I like them so much. When the world can't take it anymore and has to lash out with blinding blues and flashing whites and(more)
Thunderstorms never used to bother him, but that was before the war. Now, if he was woken by a terrific thunderclap, it was all Roy could do not to get the shakes. He would curl around a pillow, pull the covers tight over his head and attempt to ride(more)
It sounds like a drum roll, and we can't understand where it is coming from. I know the sound by heart, understand it in the sensation of my blood rolling through my veins.

"A thunderstorm is coming," I proclaim, smiling fondly into space.

They look at (more)
Rolling thunder,
Crashing waves,
Obscure my screams,
And all my pain,

So here I am, (more)
There was a flash of lightning. "1...2...3...4...5" I counted in my head. Then came the rolling thunder. "5 miles away" I thought as I lay in my bed, bundled in a thick yellow quilt.

It was June and the storms were getting more and more frequent, but (more)
The sound of loud thunder always brings back memories of the past. Antonio still remembers the way that Lovino would crawl under his covers in the middle of a thunderstorm. Small fists clutching at white sheets, too scared to even pretend he wasn’t.
Rolling thunder crackled around me as I crept along in the shadows. Perfectly timed. Just like in all the horror movies where someone's about to commit evil deeds.

There's something about thunder that I admire. It's a sound that seemingly has no origin. The sky is vast and(more)

piercing noises through the sky
I've been scared of lightning since I was twelve years old and that tree fell on my house.

Thunder has become my alarm, my signal to shimmy under the bed and play Led Zeppelin until my ears are numb.

My mom tells me lightning is beautiful. S(more)
        Three days ago Robert Lyle's best friend had been murdered by the Cross gang.  Out on a resupply mission, they had held up Wyatts Gunshop and killed the proprietor and his son when they attempted to pull firearms from under the counter.  Unfortunately for (more)
Wooden floors creak in the humid Eastern side of Beaumont.  I pace back and forth between my grandfathers old rocking chair, and the bed where he laid like a rock.  An old pilot in WWII, he used to fly over the seas of Japan, now he lays in the sea of(more)