Shadows dot the interior of the room from the heavy lashings of rain against the window. In the street the dark waters whirl and throw themselves up against the walls of the houses. Anything below the first floor is submerged. Suburbs exist on their only remaining floor. A thunderhead of dark clouds. The flicker of lightning. But that’s not the storm that keeps them indoors.
These bolts are invisible. You can’t smell them. Can’t touch them. But you feel them. Like a scalpel drawn across your mind. Quick and almost painless. Clean. But deadly. Catch one straight to the head and it’ll turn your persona inside out. Melt your psyche. Re-write you entirely. No one dares the wrath of the second storm.
Paddy Dobson
27th November 2021