As a resident of “The South,” aka the southern states of the United States (as if there are no other “southern” regions in all the world, but whatever) I was accustomed to thunderstorms. They’d been a staple in my life for the last twenty-five years, at least, and I really didn’t think anything of them. Usually. Sure, I’d get out of a swimming pool for thunder. Lightening followed as a rule so you really didn’t want to risk being in an open body of water, but otherwise, I didn’t make no never mind. Again, usually.
But as I woke, gasping, the house rattling with the continued booming, I was sure I was about to die. I’d been dead asleep and there was little that would wake me up. This went on. This couldn’t possibly be thunder. It was still going. The house was still shaking. I’d never been in an earthquake so I didn’t know what that was like, but I thought maybe I was finding out now and I should get to shelter in door frame or something because couldn’t be good. The booming overhead though, I didn’t think it was an earthquake. This was probably a plane. And it was probably about to crash into my house. And kill me where I lay in my bed. I closed my eyes again and thought, “Well, if this is it, at least it will be quick.”
The booming faded a little and finally after a few more seconds, stopped. Then, the unmistakable crack of lightening shook my room again but nothing fell to the ground and nothing lit on fire. I was going to live after all. Another bout of thunder rolled over the house, but it wasn’t as intense, it wasn’t as long, and it wasn’t rattling. Just a thunderstorm now. The clouds could no longer bear their heavy weight and I heard the gush of rain against my windows. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to sleep.