The storm born

[Ring… Ring…]

"Hey Mom, what's up?"

Her voice comes through sharp, a little annoyed but familiar. "Xavier, you know we have bowling at six, right? It's 5:40. Where are you?"

"I'm at the park again. Drawing."

"What are you drawing? You know what, never mind. I'll look at it when you get home. Just hurry up."

"Okay. I'll be home soon, Mom."

I hang up the phone and let out a long sigh, looking up toward the sky. Something feels different today. My breath catches short, sharp and jagged. My chest tightens, my vision blurs, and for a moment, I sway, lightheaded. It's nothing new—my body's always been a betrayal, one way or another.

The sky above is hazy, a thick static veiling the air. It's stronger today. I reach out instinctively, almost unconsciously, as if to touch it. But it's too far away, just out of reach.

That sense awakens—the one I've had as long as I can remember, like a bubble surrounding my body, warning me when something is near. A certain sensitivity, like a spider sensing a vibration on its web. I reach out with this sixth sense, and the static… moves. It shifts around me, then flows inward.

Years ago, I convinced myself this static was mana or ether, like in the stories I read. I'd tried to bring it into myself, to spin it, to condense it into something real. Back then, it never seemed to work. Maybe I was crazy, maybe it wasn't enough. But I tried anyway. Anything for a moment's reprieve from the headache.

I curse my body under my breath and draw the static closer, desperate.

Suddenly, the air changes. The static grows more intense, a pressure spreading through me like a storm rolling in—fearsome, indomitable, unstoppable. I reach out, not with my body but with my mind, with my will. I can feel it: the storm. Its heartbeat resonates through the low-pressure front, and the wind slams against my face.

Time slips away as I become lost in the storm's rhythm. A flash of lightning strikes the pond in front of me, thunder following so close it feels like the ground itself shakes. I stand from the bench, feeling the storm's pulse coursing through me, embracing its wildness.

This isn't the first time I've ridden out a hurricane or thunderstorm like this, letting myself get swept up in its chaos. But this time… this time it feels different. I feel more connected, more in control.

I walk to the edge of the water, kneeling to let my fingers touch its surface. Words rise unbidden to my lips, ones I've whispered to the storm many times before:

"Can you hear the heartbeat of the Earth? Can you feel its breath?"

Closing my eyes, I let it pull me deeper. The wind, the static, the storm—they all converge. The connection between me and it strengthens, feeding something inside me. I want more. I want to know it all, to feel everything the wind and the storm can offer.

The storm answers.

Lightning splits the sky, brighter than anything I've ever seen. And then, there's nothing.

The Void

I wake—or maybe I don't. It's hard to tell. There's no sky, no ground, only blackness and static humming at the edges of my mind. It's a quiet that isn't quite silence.

Am I dead?

The thought strikes me like lightning. This must be heaven—or maybe the abyss. I laugh at the absurdity of it, a low, hearty sound. The doctor always said I had exercise-induced asthma. The harder I worked, the less I could breathe. And now here I am, breathing infinitely.

It feels… good.

But the static remains. It surrounds me, calls to me. When I reach out, it answers with ease, bending to my will. Maybe this isn't heaven. Maybe it's not the abyss, either. Maybe it's something else entirely.

I take a breath—a long, endless breath. And for the first time in my life, I feel… whole.