Edward Shin

Through the French doors,

windows to the outside world,

lay a foreign landscape.

Outside,

nothing is as it should be,

a terrible confusion.

Though the sun should be glaring,

only darkness was to be seen outside,

as if snuffed out.

Dark clouds rumbling across the sky,

ever shifting in position,

moving at an ever quickening pace,

dropped fat and heavy drops of rain,

landing with not the usual tap,

but with the bang of a gun.

Throughout the continuous drumbeats,

accents of lightning flashed the sky,

erratically and suddenly.

The weather man’s voice blared in the back,

reporting the latest shifts in pressure and direction,

but could hardly be heard over the seconds-long rumbles of thunder.

Click.

The TV screen went blank,

the room dark,

only the occasional flashes of lightning were left.