The Summer of Thunderstorms (Poetry)[Complete]

Word Count: 1750.

~~~
Mister Dean Lost,

Disaster has struck. As the circle of life has repeatedly shown us, death follows life follows death. The dial has fallen back on death, but life is taking too long to show, and I'm afraid the train may hit me before we reach the light at the tunnel's end. So, I decided to write to you, as you are the only one who has yet to call me hysterical.

For the longest time, I had no idea the danger. In a sort of matrix, I was protected; or, so I thought. I was never scared of thunderstorms, but the constant rain and clouds became a nuisance to my weekly summer football games. If I had stayed inside the whole time, I wouldn't have had a life. So, one night, I did go. I went to the field and subjected myself to the electric jabs of God's staff, conveniently uncovering the truth in the process: all in a dream! While thunder clapped and lightning circled round like stage lights, I slept still, and so I think perhaps somebody was very adamant I see this vision. For what reason, I haven't got a clue, other than that they may have needed my hand.

And hence, I cannot take the credit. If I have learned anything, it is that I'm no more than a drop of maple syrup in this country, and in this world. Tiny, slow, everchanging, and I can't help but get stuck to things; even you, though you still insist I'm sweet.

In this package, I have enclosed my final twelve poems; one for each clock hour. Do what you please with them, but if you sell any to the newspaper do not credit me. Not solely, because though I played the scribe, I am no author. It's a collection about all the good and bad bugs the rain brings out, written by my hand in accordance with the Actress, the Horse, the Castle, the Waitress, and others I met along the way. If I'm lucky, I'll see them again soon -- and maybe you, too.

Your devoted sister,
Rossy Lost
~~~

Last-Minute Warning! Could irk astraphobes.