Got To Be Good-looking ('cause he's so hard to see)

~35~

John

We had been on the phone with George and Ring's, a conference call of epic proportions happily chattering away about everything and nothing. Music and peace, especially our peace. I had just looked up from the guitar when an icy blast whipped the sheets on the clothes line by the window, Linda rushing to bring them in. A storm was on its way.

And it was a mighty sight to see.

Rolling and switching back and forth, she was evil, strong and commanded respect, lightning pierced the landscape and I made the decision to leave there and then. The storm was coming in from the coast toward the farm.

The cliffs completely bare to its trauma, the cottage open and in her path.

The drive was not wonderful, gates were bare metal and the lightning hungry, I held them with a t- shirt hoping it would protect me from her bite.

A tree was down in the driveway and the darkness and pelting torrential rain had me nearly drive into the damn thing. No lights blessed either of the cottages and I made my way toward the closest- hers.

Never ending thunder, it was like wave after crashing audible wave and I thought I heard a scream but the wind took my ears holding them with its howl.

Stepping closer I made the small porch of Clare's cottage. With my weaken torch light, I spotted the mess of pot plants. The delicate flowers destroyed, glass and terracotta strewn about, it had me looking up to glimpse the gaping hole where the window glass should have been.

"Clare!"

I barrelled in, hell I didn't care for knocking, she wouldn't have heard it. That was plainly obvious.

"In here" The tears in her words drove me toward the living area and her eyes, rivers of pain flowing toward her chin over her cheeks. "I'm bleeding, can you fetch a towel"

The pillow her foot propped on was flooded with blood, red on the sunny yellow fabric. I found the first aid kit, it had the same home as the one in my cottage, and I came back kneeling beside the couch, wiping her eyes.

"Hands off Clare" I peeped and it was a river of trickling maroon, the large chunk of glass making it hard for her to press to stem the bleed.

"I feel sick" She utter and lay back, hand splayed over her blue eyes "Just pull it out Cap, quickly"

I teetered on pulling the thing or vomiting. I'm not a nurse and this was blood. Real human flesh, and rivers of blood. I groaned softly.

"Don't be a namby-pamdy, pull the damn thing out. I should have but couldn't, the angle is horrid and I had no light. Just... do it. Please"

And I did and she screamed and hit my back repeatedly, I flinched but let her go while I pressed as firmly as she would take it, on the wound. Lightning flashed and I felt the cringe before the boom, the thunder then trumpeted arrival and if she could have melted into the couch I think she would have.

We weren't alone, a bird had flown in at some stage, audience to my ministrations. It sat docile on the hearth wetter looking than me. I finished dressing the gaping hole and picked the shivering girl from the seat, walking to the bedroom, dropping her to the sheets. Lightning flashed and she yelped, thunder cracked loudly.

I found the bathroom as she talked a mile a minute, classic nonsense of a scared person, rambles, laughter and screams when a boom or bang occurred. Dry, and somehow in a pair of her grey tracksuit pants, she had the audacity to giggle when I shone the dim torchlight on my state of dress, shutting her up when I pointed the pale light in her direction... reminding her of her near naked bra covered chest, she froze then relaxed, giving up to the night.

I shone the torch, with the last of its battery's life, above us, pale on the ceiling.  It shone softly around the room, like a kero lamp. And, as the rumbling and consistent bang of thunder shook her, I was pulled close. Clare quickly pulling the sheet and blanket over the both of us, snuggling down and we were then completely hidden under the sheets.

The torch died.