Lightnings of Life

As the horizon embraced the lightning and the waves of thunder cracks pervaded the sky, the twins held each other's hands, frantically comforting themselves with one another's warmth and attempting to fight the chilling breeze brought by the upcoming rain.

The mother of the twins smiled heavily when she noticed the evident anxiety her children are feeling, and sighed as she sat on the bed, placing the cups of hot chocolate she prepared for her children. "Do you want to know why thunder and lightning occur, my darlings?"

The twins looked at each other, the onyx black eyes of the boy meeting the girl's chocolate brown eyes, clearly asking without even opening his mouth.

After a moment, the twins nodded. The mother gave them a warm smile and shifted comfortably in her seat.

"Legends say that when good people meet their end, their souls live in the clouds for a long while. And if the time comes for them to be born again," she paused, and grabbed a book at the side table, then showed its title to the twins, gaining an amused grin from them.

"Reincarnation." she whispered like it's a secret.

The twins giggled as she continued. "If the time comes for them to be born again in this world, the owners of the sky arrange a battle royale, wherein the two chosen souls fight 'till they exhaust. They are given weapons that when they collide, it causes a spark that crashes and lights up the sky, and when one falls down the clouds divide."

The twins' mouth parted, the mother felt a wave of relief and another pleasant feeling as each second passed. She gazed at the window and saw the non stop lightning from the horizon. "The winner of the battle gets to be born again in this world, and the other is to be given a chance to fight for a life they desire when the time and owners of the sky permits them again."

"So," the girl amusingly began, gazing upon her twin brother who's still so mesmerized by the story, "We don't need to be scared by the loud thunder, and the bright flashes of lightning?"

"Correct."

The boy sniffed. "Because it just means that some souls in the clouds are just battling to be reborn again?"

"That's right."

"But what if the battle became so big that the clouds crashed into the land? What now, Mamma? I don't want to be a soul yet! And I don't want to battle 'till I'm  tired!" the boy exclaimed in fear. His twin sister did nothing but frown at him, giving him stare with disdain.

"Do you not listen to Mamma? The clouds aren't solid, clouds are just smoke that forms in the sky."

"She's right, mi corazon. Por favor, don't be scared. Nothing's gonna crash on this land. Your Pappa's making sure of that, alright?"

The forming tears on the boy's eyes gradually faded, wiping his eyes with his checkered sleeve in the process.

"Mamma, maybe Pietro's only sleepy. Isn't it past our bedtime?"

"Will you be able to sleep with all these thunderclaps, mi corazon?" Their mother softly asked, handing then the hot chocolates she placed earlier at the side table.

"I'm sure Wanda will sing me the lullaby you always sing whenever you put us to sleep." Pietro assured as he took a sip from the cup.

"Alright then," she each patted their heads, "Just put the cups here and I'll get them later after you fall asleep. I'll be right outside if you need me, okay?"

"Te quiero, Mamma."

"Te quiero."

"Ah, Mamma," Wanda called, the look on her eyes demanding answers, "What happens to bad people then? You said that good people live in the clouds, but what about bad people?"

The mother smiled, hiding the uneasiness in her voice. "The legend I heard didn't mention anything about them, mi corazon."

The door creaked as she closed it. Then, she made her way to the living room, going back to cleaning the weapons she found while digging under the foot of the mountain yesterday morning.

She decided that she could sell these leftovers of the war hundreds of years ago, and to also kill time to wait for her husband to finally come home.

In the quarter of her eye, she saw a crinkled and rolled old paper, covered with soil and tied loosely on a sword made out of bronze.

She felt drawn into it, like a piece of her was holding it. Dropping the dagger she was currently cleaning on her lap, she grabbed the paper and opened it right away the moment it touched her palm.

She wasn't wrong. It indeed held a piece of her.

An arrogant smirk plastered on her lips, as the flashes of memories that got drowned and buried by her current life suddenly came back, hunting her again but for some reason, she found the terror pleasurable.

The sketched image on the paper was her. It's like a mirror of her without the color of her paley pink lips, narrow bony nose, and almond shaped eyes. The only color it mirrored was her jet black hair.

"Ah," she mumbled. "How nostalgic."

"Mamma?"

A startle from the soft voice beside her. She didn't notice her daughter Wanda approaching her.

"Yes? Do you need anything?"

"Pietro went to the bathroom." she replied as her eyes went to the sketch on the ancient paper.

An amused look on the child, once again. "Mamma, it looks exactly as you!"

She smiled at the child and kissed the side of her head, "Right? I look like your grandmother."

"Really? You both look so beautiful. That explains why the paper looks so old." she touched the paper with her forefinger.

"Wanda, let's go to sleep." Pietro called, still fixing his pajamas.

The mother gave her twins one final kiss on their forehead before they went back to their room. When Wanda saw the sketch, the mother didn't feel anything other than proudness.

Although, she lied.

That wasn't her grandmother. That was her. From hundreds of years ago, where wars were everywhere, and swords were the mundane.

She'd lie if the skills she learned during the war didn't help her win the battle royale at the clouds.

The clouds moved, and the darkness faded like dust blown by the wind. The lightning and thunder claps are gone like the sun when night comes. A gentle knock on the door, it wasn't quite nor loud, just enough to not bother the twins.

She recognized it. She recognized it enough to ignite a fire inside of her, a feeling way beyond excitement. Almost running, she went to the door and opened it.

There, her husband stood with a smirk on his face. His black hair was damp, probably because of the rain. And parts of his clothes were torn, like it was slashed by a sharp weapon. Not to mention, the blood dripping off the wounds on his cheek and long cuts inside of those torned clothes.

"You won?" She asked with a big smile on her face.

"I didn't just win," he pulled her into a hug, as if she longed for her for a thousand years, "If I did, I would've come back to this land as a baby."

He whispered in her ear, almost careful that anyone might hear. "I twisted the clouds."