Plink.

Plink plink.

The drops come down as mere suggestions at first. As if the sky is saying to itself, “Oh, I might rain . . . still not sure.”

Plink.

Plink. plink.

The sky still deciding.

And then . . .

WHOOSH! Sheets of water dropped from the sky.

Okay, now I can run. Now, even if some drone is monitoring me from space, I will not look like an insane person dashing madly down the road. No. There’s a reason. It’s raining. Hard.

In fact, we’ve gone way past mere rain now. Now we are at deluge. Cats and dogs.

Normally, this is the moment where you’d duck under something. It would be sweet. You’d huddle under an awning and wait for a break in the storm.

But folks, there ain’t nothing here to sidle up to. This is just a field and a dirt road.

The thing about this storm is . . . it’s fixing to make some lightning. Again, I know when the sky is about to open up. The hair on your arms stands on end. When the hair on your head stands on end . . . then you’re just about to be struck by lightning.

But I’m not sticking around for that part.

It’s as if the sky hears my thought, choosing to break the earth in two as a shot of lightning hits somewhere far behind me, just as I take off from a run to a sprint. Guess I’ll be getting my workout today.

“One . . . two . . . three . . . four—”

CRASH.

Okay, that’s the thunder.

It’s four miles away.

Sprint. Sprint. Sprint sprint.

Heavy breathing now. God, I’m out of shape. I really should exercise more. This is a thought I have: Why am I so lazy? It’s only in moments like these that I realize my slovenly ways might one day be the end of me. I mean, suppose I was running for my life, then where would I—

A BURST of light.

“One . . . two . . . three—”

CRASH.

It’s getting closer.

That was fast.

What is that expression, a mile a minute? It’s actually good that I don’t have an umbrella. Or, in this case, you would call it a lightning rod. But even being out in the open is a huge mistake. I’m the tallest thing I can see for miles, and that is not what you want to be in a storm.

It might be time to contemplate lying on the ground and making myself small. The smallest possible target. If I don’t see the house before the next—

FLASH!

“Okay, one . . . two . . . three—”

CRASH.

“Please, God, if you’re listening, if you’re not too busy, please let me make it back to the house. I promise I’ll be good. I promise I’ll try not to use your name in vain. I promise not to be mean ever and I’ll even pray more and—”