We descended into the darkness like a stone in the ocean. Water grabbed at our ankles. Geography was not on our side. We looked up the hill towards a light post, the only light we could see. My older brother and I worked our way up the hill, fighting the water's current with every step. The thunder accented every measure of our hearts percussion, redemption was upon us.
It all started with a power outage. The lights in our house shut off, so my brother and I decided to go for a walk. The clouds muffled all color. Distant echoes of thunder chimed into our conversations. It was probably not an ideal time to be outside.
Aimlessly walking we found ourselves lost in a large open field. Tornado sirens filled the pensive landscape. Cars rushed home on a nearby street. My brother was not a compass, but since I was a boy scout, he thought I was. I was not. The unfamiliar neighborhood that trapped us did not warrant any directions home. So we sat on a curb and waited for inspiration.
It happened slowly, then all at once. The storm arrived throwing punches. There was no shelter. Every drop of rain hit like a horse's hoof against our skin. All light was gone, as if the world itself had a power outage.
Our walk became a fight to live. Every step was a necessary risk. Every step was blind. We scrambled for hope. We saw a single light at the top of a hill.We moved towards it. The water poured down, encumbering our progress, but we persevered. We survived.
At the top of the hill, the rapture was upon us. The grey rain curtain peeled back and golden sun rays were all that were left. Behind us the storm continued to stir and hunt, but in front of us was home. On top of the hill we were able to find our bearings. So we set off home bound with a story to tell.