The Night the Lightning Struck by Stephanie Kreuz

      George Bremer CC




​The Night the Lightning Struck
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She couldn’t sleep. The fan blew air on her face and the one leg that hung off her bed, but did nothing to cool her body. She didn’t sweat easily, even on a hot night like this, and only did so when really exerting herself. Heat radiated within her face, her torso, her arms, her legs.
     She could hear crunching noises outside. Leaves shuffled, branches breaking. She was aware of every sound and how close it was to the trailer. Was it a cat? A mountain lion? A bear? As unlikely as it was to be anything so large, the thought of some creature prowling around kept her wide awake, even more than the heat. She stared at the ceiling, thinking about the news she received that day. Another death. Another unexpected passing of someone lost far too soon. She didn’t cry. Not for lack of love or pain, but the distance in space and time left a hole in her heart that even tears couldn’t fill. She felt empty, useless, 3,000 miles away from everyone she loved and no way to get there without risking her own life, and theirs. This is what she thought about as her body radiated heat and an animal circled her trailer.
     Her eyes opened at the sound of rain beating down above her, a pitter patter on the tin roof. She smiled. Lightning flashed. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...a crack of thunder that made her veins rattle. Only a few miles away. She missed thunderstorms and all the sounds of summer. But this storm made her body tense, her mind on the dry forests and underbrush exposed in the violent storm. More shadows are cast around her. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four...Her mom had called her in the middle of the day. She knew the moment the phone rang, something had happened. She answered the phone. 

You have bad news. 
Yes, her mother said. 

     Her ceiling asks her to take a rorschach test, so she obliges. She sees a face in the shadows and is reminded of her childhood bedroom. The nightlight making shadows on the wall from her curtains, curtains covered in pastel hearts. A man’s face with a large noise cascading from its edges. 
     Her father wants to know why she didn’t call. She was at the river. Why she didn’t check in. She hadn’t planned to. He was worried when she didn’t. Worried, worried, worried. The worry creeps through the phone, a whole entire country isn’t enough to filter the toxins out. But he is doing okay, given the day, given the news. How is your trip going? She gets to five this time. 
     The rain began to soften after only a minute, a short lived storm making a pitstop on its way to destruction. The clock read 3am. She didn’t know if she had actually slept at all yet. I hope this doesn’t cause a wildfire. Her last thought before falling asleep that she would forget by morning.
     The sky was clear, blue, and bright. It was only 7am, but the thermometer already read 85 degrees in the shade. She had a strange dream last night. There were vicious animals and a man begging her for more. She set her mind to the day before. 
     The river was as clear and blue as the sky. Cold and unfazed by the modern world growing around it. The rocks are worn smooth and a rock bed of pebbles glistened in the rising sun. The hills were bright oranges with tufts of green brush and tall pine trees. Her eyes flooded with the tears she couldn’t bring to the surface the day prior. It was beautiful.
     The bugs bit and so did the wind with its hot evening heat and smell of burnt ash. The stench in the air sparked a memory she has forgotten about. I hope this doesn’t cause a wildfire.

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Stephanie Kreuz received an MFA in Creative Writing: Fiction from Mills College. She currently lives in Northern California where she experiments with creative non-fiction to grasp the complexities of life and family dynamics, but mostly spends her time reading and writing fantasy to escape reality for a little while.