I saw the rains coming, was alerted to their progress by television, radio, newspaper, all the hallmarks of a mass media disaster story; the crowds hid, but I stayed outside to watch. A storm-of-the-century, they claimed; I had to see this, so I went into the yard to watch. I felt them before I saw it. The winds blowing into, through, past me; the distant thundercracks growing ever closer; the trees swaying, bowing to the oncoming might of a superior force of nature. Yet, in some strange mixture of anticipation and foolishness, I stood my ground.

The storms came. The branches shrieked. The ground trembled. I waited. The skies opened up, and a massive outburst of rainwater hit me full on. I was immediately soaked through, past the skin, and my rising dread felt delicious.

I heard the others scream for me to come inside, but I couldn't. I knew that something was going to happen, I had no idea what, I had to be a part of it. They called me crazy, and they were right. The winds picked up even higher, whipping smaller trees out of the earth's protective embrace, into that terrifying abyss above me. Hail began pouring down around me. I flinched, only to realize that the only space around me not filled with golfballs of ice was my shadow. I was safe, somehow, somewhy, I was safe from this storm.

It was then that I realized what was happening.

I followed the storm. Got into my car and began driving, off to the east. I went slowly at first, warily, not knowing which way the thunderhead was going, almost losing it a few times, but I soon began to make better progress. From county line to county line, I chased it, all night long, into a dull, faded, gloomy sunrise, and back into nightfall. For three days, I drove, without stopping for anything more than a splash of gas and a convenience store meal, then back on the road.

My phone stopped ringing after the first evening; I knew they just wanted to know why I was doing.. whatever it was I was doing, but I had no idea how to respond. Surely a simple 'I just have to do this' wouldn't have sufficed, it barely even sufficed for me. I began to consider the fact that I had no idea why I was chasing this meaningless little cloud across the Kansas sky, but then three massive bursts of lightning whipped through the air several miles ahead of me, followed by the loudest noise I had ever heard. I kept driving. The world was a march of rain, and I along with it. Clouds filling the sky, blackened dirt and grass below, slowly turning slick-brown-mud with every passing downfall of rain.

Eventually, the clouds began to dissipate, rip themselves apart into ever-smaller shadows of their former, horrifically beautiful self. When I finally pulled off the road, I was somewhere in the middle of Illinois, in a truckers' convenience lot, several hundred square feet of gravel made for wary travelers and drivers to park and sleep on. I looked up at the slowly-emerging moon; other than my dashboard, it was the brightest thing I'd seen since the beginning of this craziness, this, by all measures, temporary insanity I had begun to plunge out of. There were twenty-eight voicemails waiting for me, and three times as many missed calls, and I swore that I would get to them all, as soon as I rested my eyes for just a couple minutes.

bang.

I awoke with a start, the thunder leaving my ears ringing for what seemed like hours. Peek a glance at the dashboard clock: I had been asleep for all of thirty minutes. I jerked my head out the window, but there was nothing above me but that same full moon and a couple twinkling stars and a quickly passing jetliner. Had they heard it? I was losing my mind, I was sure of it. I leant back in my chair, closed my eyes, and got ready to fall back asleep.

bang.

Up I sprung, threw the door open, and stared at the heavens, daring them to do it again.

bang.

"Alright, that's it! What do you want from me?" I screamed.

bang.

One of the sleeping trucks in the parking lot arose; turned its lights on, and shone them directly at me, as if to question how I would dare offend it. I realized how stupid I looked, and began to slink back to the car, when

bang.

'This is sick! This is perverse! This is'

bang.

'Then why? Tell me why? Why are you doing'

bang.

The world swam, flipped upside-down, then back; then drunkenly tipped to the side. The gravel rushed up to cordially meet my cheekbone, to say hello, I would love to lacerate you and leave you bleeding. I got as far as the impact before I blacked out.

***

I woke up in a hospital, somewhere in the middle of Illinois. A nurse would come in to check on me every few hours, ask me how I was feeling, if she could get me anything. She smiled, and did her best, but I could tell she would have rather been somewhere else; still, I tried to engage her in some small conversation whenever she came in. Somehow, it would always come back around to all the weather they'd been seeing lately; did I hear about that series of tornadoes that had ripped through Arkansas? Only took seven lives, thank God, almost certainly all heathens anyway, but that's not what's important, I hear it blew right past the church! Praise Jesus.

Just then, a doctor walked in to shoo the nurse away; how was I feeling, did my head hurt, a battery of other questions I was too foggy to focus on. I was fine, yes, now could I get out of here? Soon, son, soon, how reassuring. Besides, there's another massive storm system blowing in; this one should go straight overhead, then right on to the East Coast, and wouldn't I be safer here in the hospital?

An hour and a half worth of waivers and paperwork, and I was out. My car has been impounded behind the police station just next door; thirty minutes more paperwork, and I was out of the station just in time to see the blinding, glaring sun dip behind the darkest cloud I'd seen outside of my dreams. I thumbed the radio's buttons until I heard the familiar three beeps of the emergency alert system; a gravelly voice told me the storm was heading straight down Interstate 70, and to most definitely seek shelter immediately; at that, I spun the volume back down. On the floorboard, next to piles of empty soda cups and sandwich wrappers, there was a map of Illinois that I didn't remember buying. I found where I was, where I-70 was, and sped off.

Ten minutes and two wrong turns later, I found the storm. It was bigger than the last one, and moving quickly; I had to hop on now, or I would never catch it. The road I was on dead-ended before the highway, turned into an outer road. I raced down it, hoping, praying, there, an on-ramp; I was free. I was on the highway, fifty, fity-five, sixty miles per hour, I was being pulled along by the massive system above me, until finally I reached the front. I marched along, the roar of the engine in tune and in time with the thunder above me. I was alone on the road, I was alone with the storm, and I was free.