Thunderstorm

When I listen to the forecast, the weather calls for abundant sunshine and the day is anything but.

The sky is ominous and roars with thunder and lightning illuminating the yard. The fence is swaying, and I cringe.

My shih-tzu Benny is plopped under the kitchen table whining. I bend and pet his head. “Sorry, buddy. It’s a thunderstorm. Hopefully it’ll end soon.”

My coffee is cold, so I dump it into the sink and make another cup. While it’s percolating Benny comes out, barks, and wags his tail.

The sun has broken through the clouds.

Chemotherapy awaits after all.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

That Night

The sky looked heavy as darkening clouds pressed hard against the planet's surface. The two dominant elements fought. It was like an unstable ballet.

"Are you going to fight with me?"

Sam shook his head. "We're not fighting."

He wanted to return to that night in the garden with Lily.

Lightning illuminated the clouds, shattering the heavens, spilling its hot sparks in whirlpools that burst into thunder. Sam's heart pounded fast.

"It can't end here," Lilith cried.

Sam knew what was coming.

"Hey guys," Adam waves. "Beautiful night."

Thunder crashed.

Samael bowed his head crying as the real thunderstorm began.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Holocaust

One person in six hasn’theard of the Holocaust, doesn’t know what it is, a planet of smoke andflames. Seventy year ago my relatives didn’t believe it was there, andthen they walked through the gate and under the slogan, Arbeit MachtFrei, and found they suddenly had a dismal view of God’s back frominside the barbed wire. So I look around, and though the times areterrifying, try to act like a kind of thunderstorm blue, like I can seeclouds in the shape of a woman’s mighty body and feel the rain thathasn’t fallen yet.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest collections are I'm Not a Robot from Tolsun Books and A Room at the Heartbreak Hotel from Analog Submissions Press. 

Thunder Shook The Bibelots

Ralph hated thunderstorms. Tonight's had him cowering in his father's study. Each crack of thunder shook the shelves, rattling his father's war memorials and the family bibelots, and left him cringing abjectly in the corner.

When the storms came, Ralph would rarely understand the reason. His father would have to explain, with varying degrees of patience, that hadn't cleaned his room or had embarrassed him in front of strangers or hadn't done a good job of listening.

But tonight, he knew exactly why the storm had come. His bloody hands and his father's limp body told the story in full.