Clouds

It was a heavy heat that draped itself uncomfortably over the yellow-brown hills. Short-lived breezes provided mild relief as towering clouds hung overhead, threatening that rain might soon flood the prickling, static air.

In nearby towns, distant flashes of lightning slowly drove the residents indoors. Storms were common in the plains and this one sparked little interest. At worst it was a minor inconvenience; Mrs. Murphy, out running errands, would have to return to the farmer's market later in the afternoon. A half-filled bag slumped over by her front door as she fished for the key to her home. A brief flicker of caution ran through her mind as she pulled out the key, but the routine motion was too familiar to stop. And in the split second before the air in front of her exploded, lightning striking metal and electrocuting her to death, she was consumed by the terror of a memory that had resurfaced just a moment too late.

Ash swirled and the bag burned slowly by her door. Sixty thousand feet above the flame, a small figure leapt from the top of one cloud to another.