The sheets of rain lash down, almost maniacal in their resolve to pound everything in the way.
The lightning flashes blindingly. For a split second, there is silence, followed by the booming thunder nearby.
The water pounds and pounds. The thunder rumbles. The lightning comes again.
The storm is hitting my windshield and the wipers struggle to move the water. Their back and forth motion is hypnotic — and I wonder whether the storm I feel and hear and fear is really outside — or if it’s inside my heart.
It’s dark and it’s loud and it’s gloomy. The storm outside the car threatens me physically, but the storm inside threatens something far deeper. Far more existential. It’s pounding on my very core again.

World has become a freak show, but we’re not supposed to notice
I can’t tell truth about my father unless I dig for truth about me
What if we’ve completely missed the point of loving other people?
Meet the website developer who saved my failing redesign process
Ordinary miracles fill our lives, while we still demand wonders
Are modern Americans tough enough to survive in united nation?
Romantic interest no easier now than it was for me in sixth grade