Gifts of the Storm

Some storms are powerful enough to grant their gifts to a living being, but only if they are willing to pay the price.

His short brown hair whipped in the wind. The sky was turning grey and he could smell the approach of a storm. Dark clouds started to brew, hiding the clear sky and marring the previously sunny day.

He sat at a wrought iron table under the veranda attached to his university's science building. The field in front of him was dotted with tall trees. The grass was healthy and complete apart from the path that cut diagonally across it.

Buildings lined the field. Students hid inside to busy themselves with studying or to avoid the storm. Figures walked past briskly on their way to the dormitories or their cars, hoping to outrun the rain.

They all seemed to fear the weather, but he found it enticing. There was something beautiful about the pillars of dark grey clouds, the spattering of rain, the roll of thunder, the flash of lightning. Pressure was building around him and it felt unbelievable.

He was well used to the thrill of the storm but something felt different. The pressure never stopped growing. At first it seemed as though the tension would overtake him, but he quickly realized the sensation was coming from within him. His skin felt electric. The pounding of his head was dull and distant and every sense sharpened to a point.

His heart began to pump harder as adrenaline coursed through his body. It suddenly felt as though he could no longer contain the power caged inside. He realized that his will was the only thing that contained it. If he abandoned  control, all of the energy would be released.

His eyes wandered out to the field - so close and directly beneath the storm. He walked out towards the center, aware of every face that stared as it rushed past, drove by, or peaked through the window. He trembled violently with power that longed to break free.

When he reached the middle of the field, he fell to his knees. He could feel his own barriers weakening, succumbing to the storm. His arms reached up towards the sky as if he were being forced to bow before a powerful god. Rain poured heavily onto his body and soaked him to the bone. His head tilted back and he let out a piercing scream as he abandoned all control.

Lightning jumped into his outstretched hands. He screamed louder and louder, a mad beast with rolling eyes and bared teeth. The lightning poured into his body and he poured it back out - striking a tree, charring the grass, cracking the cement. It seemed as though the electricity would consume him.

Then everything went black.

The End

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