TODAY, OUR TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR EVA BIELBY, IS SHARING HER LATEST FLASH FICTION STORY, 'FLASHES, FEAR AND FASCINATION #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

FLASHES, FEAR AND FASCINATION

I’ve been reading in blissful solitude for the last hour or so, totally immersed in my current read - a psychological thriller. The blinds and the curtains are both closed. Daylight ended some forty-seven minutes ago, earlier than normal due to the ominous, black clouds looming overhead. I’d shut out the darkness, happy to read in the lamp-light.

I head into the kitchen to make my last hot drink before bed. Once the kettle noisily comes to the boil and clicks off, I can hear a distant rumble of thunder. The recent weather report I saw earlier had warned of storms in our region for tonight.

Could it be they’ve got it right this time? I let the sarcastic thought flow briefly through my mind.

Another distant rumble has increased in volume and intensity. Glancing up at the sky through the kitchen window, I notice the distant flickers; the reflections of the lightning not so many miles away. At first, I can see a few light drops of rain, followed by heavier spots hitting the window. I hurry through to the living room, deposit my cup of tea on the coffee table and light a couple of candles. After turning off my reading lamp, I pull back the curtains and open the vertical blinds. As the storm approached from the west, I went back to the kitchen, where once again, I made sure to turn the lights off and open the vertical blinds at the patio door. I run around the ground floor and upstairs, making sure all lights and lamps are off and open the remaining blinds and curtains. I want the storm to be visible, wherever I choose to view it from.

After unlocking the patio door in the kitchen, I step out onto my patio for a minute or so, allowing the heavy rain to soak my clothes and hair. If we’re going to have some lightning, I need to see it and feel it. It will come closer, it has to come close to get me, but not in the expected scenario one would likely associate with lightning, because I ride the lightning.

A beautiful streak of forked lightning lights up the blackness of the sky for a second or two, followed by a resounding boom of thunder, dramatically drowning out the sound of the ever hooting traffic. Some of the people who were still outside are rapidly deserting the streets. The few who remain outdoors are holding their umbrellas aloft and hurrying onwards to their various destinations.

More frequent bolts of white hot lightning continued to flash with their electrostatic discharge, lighting the world with a blinding incandescence. It possessed a vivid, jagged, electrical beauty that bore life and also the threat of death to anyone falling victim to one of its powerful, lethal tendrils. I’m afraid and yet I find a thrill and fascination in the spectacle, as always.

In an instant, I’ve set my intention. It will come for me, it always does; every summer since I was a child, sometimes only once, but it had at times, happened on two or three occasions during the summer months. It won’t harm me in any way. It will take me to wherever I ask it to…I know that much. Over the years, I have done it many times; been back to some wonderful places, to many memories spanning several years, and most importantly – to my childhood and to visit memories that were not mine. Stories which my parents had told me about. I stand in my 'piss-wet-through' clothes and wait for the lightning to come and collect me.

It’s getting close now and I wait until it is directly overhead. It won’t be too much longer before I ride it again. I will know which tendril as it always bears a light bluish hue – the shade which is destined for me – because I am ‘The Lightning Child’. I still don’t understand why, but the lightning first came for me when I was a terrified six-year-old, clutching at my mother’s apron as she tried to move around the kitchen preparing our evening meal.

In one of my ‘adventures’, I was transported back to what was my childhood home and I was able to observe myself and mum. I was sitting in a grey pushchair and my Mum had her coat on. We had either just arrived home or were just heading out. I didn’t get the chance to stay long enough to see much else. This was the earliest of my travels. Most of the places and times I visit are from when I was young through to my mid-thirties. I never take an active part in the journeys to mine or my parents' past. That is not allowed. I am merely permitted to observe the scenes I wish to travel to.

There’s another memory I observed, which has always amused me and I couldn’t resist re-visiting it. Myself and three young friends had gone for a walk one day and ended up going to see my father’s allotments. I watched on from above as we each picked some garden peas, opened the pods and stuffed the sweet fresh peas into our mouths in handfuls, leaving the empty pods on the ground. After the peas, we moved further down the garden to sample handfuls of Dad’s strawberries, yet again leaving the evidence behind. That particular lightning ride ended after I saw myself crying. I was getting severely reprimanded by Dad for taking my friends to indulge in a free ‘picnic’ at his allotments.

From floating up above, I’ve seen lots of different ‘flashes’ from my childhood and teenage years alike, but after I’d been blessed with two children, I simply needed to see the joy I felt after giving birth to them, and to feel the thrill as I encouraged each and watched them take their first steps. Since the death of both my parents, my lightning rides are now all centred round the pair of them, and from long before I came into the world.

It’s finally here. I know my wait is over. My pale blue tendril comes and I sit astride it. It takes me to today’s observation point. Within seconds, I’m looking down on Mum and Dad. They are arm in arm and on their way to the local cinema. Mum is heavily pregnant with my eldest brother. It is wartime. Suddenly, the screech of the air raid siren is deafening for a minute. The siren stops at last and I can hear the sound of the German aircraft on its approach. Dad drags Mum into the porch-front of a nearby shop and pulls her down to lie flat on the ground. I stay just long enough to hear the first couple of bombs being dropped onto the local race-course some five hundred yards away. In no time at all, I am back on my patio, and still soaked to the skin. The storm has passed us over.

I’m a bit too old these days to be called ‘The Lightning Child’, but I’ve often wondered if I was chosen because I needed to see that fear can sometimes turn into happiness. Until my time comes to an end, I shall continue to enjoy the summertime storms...and where they lead me. Hopefully, a few more years of flashes, fear and fascination for me.

© Eva Bielby  

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COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 17th December, we are thrilled to welcome our guest author, Kez Wickham St George, who is sharing an excerpt from Chapter 1 of her novel, 'TAPESTRY - The Book of Lost Worlds'.