The StormMature

This is a story I've been toying with for a long time, editing and editing again and again. This is a draft, and is by no means any sort of representation of a final output.

Chapter One: A Meeting in the Rain/The Hitchhiker

Dark Clouds on the Horizon/The Man in the Car

The glowing light that displayed the time, 6:00 am, on the dashboard was not normally bright, sometimes it was hard to make out, but right now in the reflected dark light from the consistent rain it was easily visible, seemingly bright in contrast of the almost-darkness outside and inside the grey truck. The truck in question was speeding down Route 1, through dark morning rain, nearly alone on the road. 

The man driving was a twenty-six year old named Noah Lawrence. Noah was around six two, weighing around two hundred pounds and had come out surprisingly successful and healthy in comparison to the rest of his family. The only one who was still alive was his mother, Ellen Lawrence who was still living in the house Noah grew up in, a small apartment on Fort Washington Avenue, in the Hudson Heights district of Manhattan. She was completely down on her luck and jobless, Noah had to send her consistent money to keep her from, as Noah hated to think about, selling herself on the streets. She had been a chronic drinker ever since his father, George Lawrence, a former dealer had been shot in an argument over a measly half ounce of weed. She had almost killed herself, but had passed out from too much vodka before her alcohol strangled brain could get off the child-safe cap on her Ibuprofen. 

Noah always had prided himself on shutting all this out while he was growing up, and had done well in school even as his father had started dropping hints Noah could start to assist him in the “family business.” He had moved out at seventeen, got a reliable job and apartment in a couple years, then lost both of these when both his father died and his mother attempted suicide, from the hospital bills to the consistent absence from work to the funeral bill to the therapy costs.

He had moved to Harrington, Maine, a small town, and had loved it there. He had got a job that he liked, and bought a small house. Everything was perfect for a while, a reliable money flow but recently, he had made a big mistake at his work and had been fired. In the last few months, as he scraped his resume together for applications, had realized it wasn’t very impressive. As rejection after rejection piled up, he began to get more desperate, more tired, more scared of failing to find a job until his savings, however substantial, ran out. That was why he was driving now, the twenty minute drive to Machias from Harrington through the cold morning rain to apply for a job at the Bangor Savings Bank there. Unfortunately, he would never reach Number One Center Street.

Noah’s dark hazel eyes were accented by dark half-circles, he was very tired. No, tired was not the word for it, weary fit better. He was sick of looking for work, sick of it, sick of it, sick of it. The rain increased, as if his growing despair was fueling it. He flicked the button on the side of the wheel to increase the speed of the windshield wipers across the windshield, to combat the rain’s increase in ferocity. It spattered out a rhythmic, continuous beat that echoed through Noah’s body like the deep thrum of a base drum.

Dark clouds loomed overhead, and even darker ones lay on the horizon, like gigantic sleeping monsters. There was a flash, a zig-zag of lightning spiderwebbing across the sky and after Noah counted,one, two, three-there was a massive BOOM that drowned out everything for a moment.

“Three miles,” he said, to no one in particular. He said it again, enjoying the sound of his voice, something complex and sophisticated in the face of the monotonous rhythm of the rain.

The storm was growing, and to Noah, the beat of the rain and the darker clouds that he was speeding towards made him feel like this was just the beginning, the fledgling infant of something much bigger and much harsher. He stared out of the windshield through the droplets at the barely visible road, continuing his drive to Machias, towards the monsters on the horizon, diving ever-deeper into the growing storm.

The End

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