Thunder: Prologue
Prologue
Your heart sounds like thunder when it beats in your chest, when blood rushed through your ears and wrists and neck. It’s the sound of life; of terror and lust and excitement and love. Thunder rolls across the sky and your heart picks up to match it. The sound ignites something primal in humans, until the day we lose it.
I don’t think you have to die to lose the sound of thunder in your ears; you just have to lose the spark that makes us living. Until we just become something shuffling through life. It’s hard to describe just what it is that we lose before we become nothing on the inside. Maybe since thunder is out heartbeat, it is the lightning that we lose. The electric spark in our brains telling us to talk and feel and live.
Thunder continues to roll and sound, but it is faint now without any lightning to make it sharper. Some distant, mournful rumbling that keeps us alive but not living.
We hear the growling of thunder during a storm, and sometimes it scares us. Sometimes we sit comfortably by the window with a book or a ball of yarn and needles. Other times we cower against pillows or the soft body of whoever is next to us. There is terror in thunder, the threat of danger and ominous warnings of worse to come. And so it is inside of us. A rhythmic pounding that counts down our lives, blood rushing in our ears. The more we hear it, the more we know that we are going to die.
But the less you pay attention to it, the more life you can live in that set amount of time.
I don’t think you have to die to lose the sound of thunder in your ears; you just have to lose the spark that makes us living. Until we just become something shuffling through life. It’s hard to describe just what it is that we lose before we become nothing on the inside. Maybe since thunder is out heartbeat, it is the lightning that we lose. The electric spark in our brains telling us to talk and feel and live.
Thunder continues to roll and sound, but it is faint now without any lightning to make it sharper. Some distant, mournful rumbling that keeps us alive but not living.
We hear the growling of thunder during a storm, and sometimes it scares us. Sometimes we sit comfortably by the window with a book or a ball of yarn and needles. Other times we cower against pillows or the soft body of whoever is next to us. There is terror in thunder, the threat of danger and ominous warnings of worse to come. And so it is inside of us. A rhythmic pounding that counts down our lives, blood rushing in our ears. The more we hear it, the more we know that we are going to die.
But the less you pay attention to it, the more life you can live in that set amount of time.
♠ ♠ ♠
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