Twelve Years Old
The air was fresh with the scent of ozone. The clouds were just beginning to roll in on the darkened 10 o'clock sky. It was going to rain. If the flashing was any indication, it was going to storm.
That didn't stop us from going outside to look for spooky clouds, my brother and me. My brother was the future meteorologist, obsessed with the weather. He loved the idea of tornado chasing. He even got a signed, well, autographed, video tape from the top tornado chaser back in the 90's. Even though I was afraid of tornadoes, he was my brother and I followed him everywhere.
Even outside into oncoming storms.
Lightning flashed all around us, and sometimes you could see its eery tendrils streak across the sky.
It was beautiful.
But even more beautiful was the moon, its light gleaming from behind a streak of clouds. The storm wasn't here yet, so you could still see the moon in all its brightened, glowing glory.
We stood at the end of the driveway, staring up at the sky.
"Wouldn't it be crazy if lightning struck the moon and it blew up?" my brother said beside me.
I answered with only a laugh.
The wind picked up, bringing cool air along with it that felt good against my skin.
In the distance, I could hear the rain beginning to fall softly. I looked at the ground as the grass drooped underneath the falling drops. I didn't care that it was drizzling. A little rain couldn't hurt me.
I looked up just in time.
"Oh, shit!" my brother said as he began running back toward the house.
I began running too.
As if it heard our innocent conversation, lightning struck across the sky in the exact location of the moon, one of the three tendrils going directly across it.
Uncanny.
"Did that just happen?" my brother asked.
***
What if lightning struck the moon and it blew up?
YOU ARE READING
Taking back the Moon
Short StoryA description serves no purpose but to lure readers in. So why should you read? Well, I attempt to make sense of rape in the form of prose, flash back, and poetry. It is what it is.
