and Lightning
Gerrard Wilson
Copyright 2015 by Gerrard Wilson
Thunder and Lightning
Thunder and Lightning
Thunder and Lightning
It was a hot summer’s day, so hot the tar on the road had begun to melt. Seated in hot, steamy classroom, while our teacher went on and one about why we should understand algebra, I listened to the sound of thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. We used to get a lot of thunderstorms, during the summer months, when we live in Sunbury.
As I waited impatiently for the bell to ring, to signal the end of the school day, the thunderous rumblings in the distance grew steadily louder. With each passing minute, the sky became darker and darker, until it was so dark day had almost turned into night. Undaunted by the prospect of enduring a full-blown thunderstorm, while on my way home, I prayed for the bell to ring. It was late, the school bell was late, I was sure of it. Then it rang, it rang so loud I almost jumped off my chair, in fright.
“Everyone, please listen to me,” Mrs Versacali said to us. “Go home as quickly as possible, because there is a storm on the way. It’s almost upon us,” she warned. “We don’t want any of you getting struck by lightning!” she said ominously.
“Hurray!” we cheered, as we packed our books, crayons and pencils into our desks. “Hurray!” we cheered again, as we ran out of the classroom and into the cloakroom. “Hurray!” we cheered a third time, when exited the school grounds.
The mere thought of being struck by lightning sent my mind into overdrive; no bolt of lightning was going to strike Gerrard Wilson, not ever. Searching for my younger brother, Tony, whom I always accompanied home, I was unable to find him. “The twerp must have set off without me,” I hissed.
Without any more thought as to whether or not that was really the case, I donned my school blazer and set off for home. It was raining heavily. I made a beeline for the school gates.
Turning left at the gates, I ran almost as fast as the lightning flashing in the angry sky above me. Nothing, not anything was going to stop me from getting home in record quick time...
It was a fair distance, to our home; a thirty-minute walk on a good day. It was certainly not a good day.
Although I was running almost as fast as the wind, the torrential rain bucketing down from above began to take its inevitable toll. Puffing and panting, I stopped for a rest. I was still a long way from sanctuary. Setting off again, I raced past the church. I considered going inside, to shelter from the abysmal weather, but decided it best that I keep going.
Suddenly, a tremendous clap of thunder, directly overhead, put the fear of God into me. Thinking I might at any moment be struck by lightning, I quickened my pace.
Although my blazer jacket was over my head, I was still getting a drenching. Rivers of rain ran down my forehead and into my eyes, I wiped it away, but it was immediately replaced by more.
I ran like the wind – and then some. I ignored the cracks in the pavement. This was serious, really serious running.
As I crossed Sunbury hill, I heard the sound of an electric train passing through the short tunnel under my feet. I wanted to look down, to see the wonderfully coloured sparks emanating from the rear of the train, but I was far too wet and miserable to stop. I ran and I ran and I ran. The path was wet, the shops were wet, the houses were wet – everything was wet. I longed, so longed to be dry.
Then I remembered something, something that I should have remembered, earlier. Stopping dead in my tracks, I said, “Mum! Where is she?”
Mum always met us on the way home. “Did I run past her, without seeing her, in my rush to get home?” I whispered, afraid that it was indeed so...
“She must have arrived at school before I got out, and taken Tony home,” I said, trying to convince myself that it was so. “Yes, that must be it! She forgot me! The bell was late, ringing! That’s why it happened, darn bell!”
Shaking a fist at the inky black sky, I said, “Throw what you want at me, sky; it won’t stop me from getting home, though!” Thinking about the situation some more, I said, “Mum and Tony are surely somewhere along the street, ahead of me. If I run faster I will surely catch up with them...”
On the far side of the hill, the rain was falling even heavier; I needed shelter; I needed time to catch my breath, but where might I do it?
Gazing at an old row of building ahead of me, I said, “Anne’s Bakery shop! That’s where I’ll find shelter!” I stopped at the kerb, wondering if there was any point in me looking left and right before crossing the road on such a dire day.
Without bothering to look for approaching traffic, I stepped into the road. The sound of horns blaring loudly at me, reminded me – and how – that vehicles were still running along it. “Take it easy, Gerrard,” I said to myself. “You almost got yourself killed, there.” Running across the road, I reached the path on the far side, still alive.
Approaching the ramshackle building, Anne’s Bakery shop, I joined the many people who were already sheltering there, under the canopy outside its shop window. “That’s better,” I said gratefully, although some droplets of rain, finding their way through the timeworn old canopy, were still landing on me.
While standing cheek and jowl with those people under that canopy, I am sure that not even one of noticed the bakery’s produce on display inside the window. We had more important things on our minds to contend with other than cakes and pastries.
I waited for the rain to stop, or at least slow down enough to allow me to set off again. I felt as if I was waiting there forever. When the rain finally eased, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, for Sunbury Cross. There was always a traffic policeman on duty, there, helping pedestrians to cross the busy intersection.
When I got to the Cross, however, the policeman was not there. “Where is he, constable Plod?” I groaned miserably. “How will I ever get across this place?”
Suddenly, a tremendously loud clap of thunder spurred me into action. Paying absolutely no attention to the traffic negotiating the Cross, I darted across it. A car’s horn hooted at me, then another, and then another. I ran faster, faster than I had ever ran before in my life, until I reached the far side of the Cross.
Puffing and panting, and trembling with fear, I gasped, “That was too close for comfort!” By now, my jacket that I was still holding over my head was soaked through. It was so wet, it was leaking like a sieve. Putting it on, I shivered as the rain-soaked material clung to me. “It’s easier to carry you, this way.” I said, and then I set off once again...
Everything looked so different, through the torrential rain. The shops were moribund behemoths, ready to consume any person foolish enough to enter them. Furthermore, Sunbury clock looked positively frightening, standing, there, like a green topped rocket, ready to blast into space.
Another flash of lightning, followed by a deafeningly loud clap of thunder shook the ground beneath my feet.
Turning the corner, I entered Vicarage Road. It was only a short distance from there to Bennett’s sweet shop. “I have thruppence, to spend there,” I said to myself, “and nothing is going to stop me from doing it!” I quickened my pace...
My lungs were burning, my legs were aching, I was soaking wet, but I kept on running. Bang! I smashed into a woman walking in the opposite direction. I fell to the ground, dazed and confused, the breath knocked right out of me.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I, I think so…” I answered uncertainly.
“You have cut your knee,” she told me.
I looked at it. Red liquid was flowing freely down my leg.
“”It’s nothing,” I bravely replied. “It’s just a graze.”
“It
’s more than a graze, young man. There is blood – everywhere!”
Wiping the ‘blood’ away with the sleeve of my jacket, I said, “It does look bad...”
Secretly, though, I knew it was nothing to worry about.
Scrambling to my feet, I delved a hand into my trouser pocket, searching. “Got it,” I said. The woman stared at me, puzzled by what I was doing. Withdrawing my hand from the pocket, I presented it to her. She took one look at my hand, and then passed out.
“Are you all right?” I asked the woman, when she regained consciousness a short while later.
Staring up at me, from the soaking wet path, she said, “Your hand... it was covered in blood!”
Extending my hand towards her, I explained, “No, it’s not really blood. I was messing with you.”
“Messing?”
“Yes, it’s ink, red ink! My ink bottle cap came loose when I fell!”
Unconvinced that I had not suffered a major loss of blood, she said, “The glass, of the bottle, it