Before The Rain

The first thing I noticed was the darkness. My room was the kindof dark that presses against your eyelids, the kind that isn't justabsence of light but the weight of everything waiting. My digitalclock glowed 3:33 a.m., the numbers fluorescent and steady, likethey were carved into the air. And as usual, I was awake, lyingon my back with my hands folded across my stomach, waitingfor the whisper I'd been hearing for seven nights straight."Watch... for the storm will come."It was the same words every night, delivered like a soft breezethat could cut glass if it wanted. I rolled onto my side and pulledmy journal closer. The pen felt cold in my fingers, but as soonas it touched paper, it seemed to warm under my touch, guidedby a force I didn't understand. I wrote:Watch... for the storm will come.