Forgotten gods

The vague distant enraged rumblings of the forgotten gods of old strike my eardrums and invite me outside. The mumbles and grumbles of these ancient beings that never left us still comfort us, scare us and welcome us into the unpredictable arms of their mother and all her wild forces. With my waterproof jacket on, I step out, lured by the call of a storm. The dark grey cloud bellowed as it neared, crawling over the peak before me, it was old and slow. Pink, white and purple flashes emanated from deep within the cloud filling the sky, making itself visible.

I decide to take shelter under the eaves of and old Victorian train station. From here I would watch the old beast in all its glory as it travelled north, perhaps seeking worship from the Northmen as it once did millennia ago. It was then when I felt it, it was here. The wind picked up and with it came the rain. The smell of dust unsettled from the ground, the scent of a storm. People carried on about their business, walking by without paying any attention to the storm. It knew and it was not happy. Trees began to sway and road signs swung with a sense of urgency.

The cloud now, above unleashed its anger. Bright tendrils of light spread through the belly of this creature in the sky. The wind and rain joined forces assaulting everything it touched. People screaming and running for cover but the screams were muted and out matched by the perpetual and thunderous roar from above. Standing behind a pillar I was safe, excitedly watching the waves of rain thrash the ground, watching the roads turn to rivers and the world shake under such unhindered power to the greatest sound and light show I have ever seen.

This continued for 30 minutes. The centre of the storm had passed, moved on to torment or elate other descendants of its flock and I decided to walk home in the rain, with a smile on my face hearing once again the distant enraged rumblings of old gods that can never be forgotten.