La fin du monde

Saint-Herblain, 18:30.
The sky turned pitch black. It wasn’t just rain, you could feel it. The clouds were too thick, too dark and the sky was buzzing with electricity. We all rushed to close our work and be gone. We all wanted to outrun that darkness rolling in. But then came the rain. Thick, wet drops falling from the sky slow and lazily, warning us. I’m just getting started, don’t you go anywhere. Hurry, hurry. It was on everyone’s mind. Clouds were rumbling, egging us on. Electricity shooting from the sky but not touching the ground. I’m just getting started, don’t you go anywhere.
And then we were outside, running. The sky broke open. A wall of water came down, surrounding us. The wind gushing violently, tearing at us as we nearly drowned. Our vision turning grey and short-sighted. The earth couldn’t swallow what the sky poured out. And all around us turned to water. Hair and clothes first and then our skin, mouth, ears and eyes. It was all around us and everywhere, hugging us in it’s tight embrace like a lover. Violent passion. We rushed inside, heaving from too much, too fast. And as we stripped ourselves in the shower, clothes dropping to the floor like rain, nature rattled against the window. She raged like a love gone too fast, wailing her heart. Until the violent tears suddenly dried to a soft hiccup. Calming down to a tired smile. Decompressed and head swimming, the sky suddenly floated open, flowering a late night sky. Like soft lips pressing against skin, right before bedtime.