Storm clouds.
Grey.
Black.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5--
Rumbling thunder.
It chills your bones.
Shouting.
Yelling.
A man's voice.
A child's soft, muffled cry.
Cold skin.
Chills
Spidering up and down my spine
Over and over and over.
A woman sobbing softly.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3--
Rumbling thunder.
Cold wind.
Rain.
It falls in sheets.
Feels like little blades of ice
Piercing my skin.
Screaming.
Slamming doors.
Cars driving away.
Gravel.
A child wailing.
It fades into a soft, distant whimper.
There aren't enough tissues for all their tears.
The wind picks up.
It howls.
Trees bend to its' will.
Some threaten to fall.
The rain comes down harder,
Faster.
Like sheets of bullets.
They're so cold,
I almost don't feel them.
I almost feel nothing.
And nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing

And then: You.

And then there was you.

Sunlight,
Straining through Autumn clouds.
Yellow and red and orange leaves.
Birds building nests,
Chirping back and forth.
Squirrels foraging for food for the coming Winter,
Scurrying up and down trees.
Warm spiced apple cider.
Silence,
Except for the soft, colder breeze.
Except for the purring of a cat,
The slight kneading of their drowsy paws.
Except for the soft snoring of a dog,
His occasional half-asleep woof.
Except for pages turning,
A pen gliding its' ink across thick parchment.
Typewriter keys clacking.
Silence.
Except for your footsteps coming through the front door
And down the hall.

Nothing.

And then there was you.

There never was anyone else.