Flash Fiction: Rolling Thunder

As posted on Typetrigger.

Rolling Thunder

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 the sound travels to every little house in every little suburb, scaring puppies and little children. How I wish I could be thunder.

I let myself in through the gate and entered a backyard. Yes, thunder had it easy. I approached the sliding door and slid myself through the gap. Thank goodness for hot summer nights.

I tiptoed around the house and came to his bedroom. There he was, in bed, oblivious of my presence. I hung in the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall in time with the thunder.

I moved closer to him. I could hear him breathe, if you could even call it breathing. It was more of a wheeze. His snoring was dwarfed by the thunder.

I brought my hands to his neck and felt his warm skin. The eyes opened. The head jolted and he slid to the other side of the bed.

I switched on the bedside light and smiled a devilish smile.
He looked shocked.

“Joe? What the hell?” he almost cried.

“Sorry hun, I wanted to surprise you. I’m back from Sydney early,” I said.

“Consider myself surprised,” he said.

We embraced and the thunder stopped. Rain began to pour down. There’s something about rain I admire.

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