Flash Fiction - Lightning

From my brief time writing flash fiction, comes this story. It doubles as a slightly fictionalised version of when I left home, and rolls on to the moment I met my first true love. 27 years later, and she's still with me.

LIGHTNING

Long blades of fire tore down from the sky. They hacked into the ersatz bubble we’d put our home in. Rude fingers of electricity curled around the house, searching for any available space to thrust into. Like smack-addled burglars they invaded with fixated efficiency. They cut into our bodies and left us tingling, filled our nostrils with the sharp scent of life, wiped our minds of all thoughts except one: I am still alive.

A slivered second later, furious fists of noise pounded the roof like debt collectors. My mother squealed, my brother jumped, my father froze. I simply waited, wondering what might be next.

In any home invasion, material losses are inconsequential. What hurts is the slow burn, the virus of vulnerability that an act of assault awakens. The house had been built from the earth it sat on. Strong and stout, it showed no ill effects from the storm.

But that home had been our asylum. It was what separated us from the bewildering world. We were a force, an army united against whatever was thrown at us. In a single flash we were cauterized, and the truth became clear: that we were four spent rifles, stacked against each other. The friction of our co-existence was all there was to stop us falling.

The effect was different on each of us. As the youngest, when those charged tentacles whipped through our house, all I felt was alive. For the first time. As if the lightning had jolted me from the coma I’d lived in for 18 years.

I felt the swelling of energy inside me and knew it had to come out. I was pulled away without knowing where I was headed.

I found study in a distant town. I made a place to stay and I was flushed with the potency of sudden adulthood. My knowledge was topsoil, rich and shallow, too focused to admit doubts.

Any hesitance I had was burned away in the slivered second between when she first appeared and when I first truly saw her.

It was lightning.

We circled each other for weeks, the air around us becoming charged whenever we made contact. She made me ache, first in the guts, then in the balls, then back up in the guts again. She jabbed at the energy inside me and made me stand up all over. 

My body, my hair...my cock.

It was inevitable that we would become fused. The attraction was almost polar. As if every bump of mine was designed to fill a curve of hers. When she stood before me, naked for the first time, my heart held still. The touch of her breasts against my lips thudded through to my heels in a sensation that seemed familiar.

It was lightning.

We sought out all the different ways each other’s body could taste until we blended like clouds. She filled my nostrils with the sharp scent of life as the curious softness of her slit washed against my tongue.

The inexorable pull of nature called me higher until I was hovering over her. Our mouths were drawn together as my heat drove into her. In that slivered second, our bodies arced together. 

It was lightning.

Our hips jolted outside of our control. Every place we touched burned with need. She squealed. I jumped. We froze. We waited, wondering what might be next.

It was lightning.

It began in my guts, where she’d first made me ache. It pooled, it drove and finally a bolt of pure white heat shot out from me and into her.

She left me tingling, wiped my mind of all thoughts except one: I am now alive. I knew her, before we’d even met. She was elemental, and truly it was she who pulled me from that fetid coma.

She is lightning.