The black, thick clouds matted the sky, blocking the light. Gray colored the day. The air carried an impending threat of rain. The deluge held off until I closed and locked my car door. I inched my way backward out of the driveway, praying other cars would have their headlights on, to give me some chance of sensing their presence.
Once on the road, the fast setting on the windshield wipers only served to make me nauseous. Their excessive whooshing back and forth caused seasickness, but no clear vision. I turned the speed down on the blades, and on my vehicle, allowing my tires to settle back on the road’s surface. Hydroplaning at seven in the morning sucks. Waves of water flash out from my wheels on the right side. I grip the steering wheel to maintain control.
Lightening flashed around me, attracted to the line of the river less than a mile away. Thunder clapped seconds later, screaming the nearness of its power. Up ahead, my field of vision expands to a sharp white light all around me. A fine pinpoint of electricity attacks the traffic light, setting off a sonic boom explosion, turning the read light black. Less than a second later, the thunder answers.
Ozone and burnt wires stink up the air even through the buckets of water pouring from the heavens. My heart and lungs throb from the currents ricocheting around the center of the action. The hair on my arms stands up in response and I shiver. My mouth dries up, my lips purse in tension. My neck muscles twist in chords. I can feel the adrenaline surging through my veins.
God, I love thunderstorms.