It was no ordinary thunderstorm.
Brandon had never felt more cold in his life as he stood buck naked and trembling like a cow before the slaughter staring at the plains ahead of him. He couldn't move, though he could blink, and the lightning was so furious it had started a prairie fire down in the valley. It was terrifying and it was beautiful to behold and he stood there in the rain shivering and watching it all burn for what felt like a lifetime, when he saw the old man come over the rise dense with trees and walking towards him. The man had white hair and a white beard and walked heedless of the soaking downpour and the barreling thunder that sounded to the young man like the clanking turbines of the universe.
The sky continued to lash down, unforgiving as a scorned woman's ire, scouring the thick, compact dirt from his skin and hair that ran in rivulets down his bared feet to gather in a pool in the dead grass.
"You look like hell, Douglas." The old man seemed to think his remark funny as he laughed and slowed and stopped to look at Brandon hard. Brandon stood twitching with the icy, bullets of pelting rain and went to open his mouth but it was dry. In a world running down its own edges with water, his mouth was a desert. He tried to respond but there was only what felt like dust on his tongue, coating his throat. He wondered briefly if his soul was covered too.
The old man spoke again.
"Hasn't rained like this in months. Not like this. This kind of rain only happens once every hundred years or so. It's biblical. It's fatal. People either find religion or death in this weather."
The man stroked at his beard and looked out towards the burning field which was already beginning to diminish in flames and he smiled. Thunder stampeded across the backs of the clouds again, this time with such a crack that Brandon thought the world might split into two pieces, like a melon. Though the thunder had passed over them, he heard it still in the empty air, a great oscillation, like a phantom bell in the drear of the land on which they stood. Brandon felt the waves of it in his bones.
"I'll take you now with me and get you a meal. Tomorrow, you'll go see your brother. Sound good?" Leo spoke congenially. It confused the young, naked man with dirt pooling at his feet who experienced the rage of the storm around them also inside. He felt an anger towards the man though had never seen him. He felt mistrust. For all he did not know, he knew both those things with a panicked certitude and he knew them good. It went on behind his blinking eyes. Though the rest of him remained unmoving but for the involuntary jerks against the drops.
"Who. Who.. who am I?" He was beginning to shudder. He didn't know how he spoke at all, with the burning prairie in his throat, with the harsh chatter of his teeth and the freezing temperature.
"Don't you worry about that, right now, son. I'll explain everything."
Leo removed the long, dark coat from his shoulders and swept it around the young man and began to lead him across the field. The young man took time to move with legs that felt like they went below the ground, like sinking. Every step felt as if he was balled and chained though he could not recall ever having known what that was like before. Only that he could imagine it and he did not know how, when he didn't remember much.
"Where a.. am... am I?"
Leo Ortiz patted the young man's shoulder and smiled. Brandon thought of the snake in the bible. He remembered that. He remembered being told to watch for snakes by someone. He heard the voice and it reminded him of the word home. Watch for snakes, said the voice, as noon sunlight poured around it. He squinted his eyes despite the raining dusk. He remembered hunting them; the reeds blowing with hot wind and a long, thin stick being jabbed, picking the way ahead. The voice said that snakes went for the ankle. He remembered one in a box, its tongue hissing past the lid with its wide, flat head. Who had said that?
He staggered alongside the old man until the distant sight of a house on a hill gradually revealed itself in the distance. It came to him then. A spontaneous, profound, painful recollection. With it, he imagined that he tasted blood in his mouth; viscous, warm and like metal. He knew that he had before.
All at once, as brutal as the storm, Brandon remembered everything.
Brandon had never felt more cold in his life as he stood buck naked and trembling like a cow before the slaughter staring at the plains ahead of him. He couldn't move, though he could blink, and the lightning was so furious it had started a prairie fire down in the valley. It was terrifying and it was beautiful to behold and he stood there in the rain shivering and watching it all burn for what felt like a lifetime, when he saw the old man come over the rise dense with trees and walking towards him. The man had white hair and a white beard and walked heedless of the soaking downpour and the barreling thunder that sounded to the young man like the clanking turbines of the universe.
The sky continued to lash down, unforgiving as a scorned woman's ire, scouring the thick, compact dirt from his skin and hair that ran in rivulets down his bared feet to gather in a pool in the dead grass.
"You look like hell, Douglas." The old man seemed to think his remark funny as he laughed and slowed and stopped to look at Brandon hard. Brandon stood twitching with the icy, bullets of pelting rain and went to open his mouth but it was dry. In a world running down its own edges with water, his mouth was a desert. He tried to respond but there was only what felt like dust on his tongue, coating his throat. He wondered briefly if his soul was covered too.
The old man spoke again.
"Hasn't rained like this in months. Not like this. This kind of rain only happens once every hundred years or so. It's biblical. It's fatal. People either find religion or death in this weather."
The man stroked at his beard and looked out towards the burning field which was already beginning to diminish in flames and he smiled. Thunder stampeded across the backs of the clouds again, this time with such a crack that Brandon thought the world might split into two pieces, like a melon. Though the thunder had passed over them, he heard it still in the empty air, a great oscillation, like a phantom bell in the drear of the land on which they stood. Brandon felt the waves of it in his bones.
"I'll take you now with me and get you a meal. Tomorrow, you'll go see your brother. Sound good?" Leo spoke congenially. It confused the young, naked man with dirt pooling at his feet who experienced the rage of the storm around them also inside. He felt an anger towards the man though had never seen him. He felt mistrust. For all he did not know, he knew both those things with a panicked certitude and he knew them good. It went on behind his blinking eyes. Though the rest of him remained unmoving but for the involuntary jerks against the drops.
"Who. Who.. who am I?" He was beginning to shudder. He didn't know how he spoke at all, with the burning prairie in his throat, with the harsh chatter of his teeth and the freezing temperature.
"Don't you worry about that, right now, son. I'll explain everything."
Leo removed the long, dark coat from his shoulders and swept it around the young man and began to lead him across the field. The young man took time to move with legs that felt like they went below the ground, like sinking. Every step felt as if he was balled and chained though he could not recall ever having known what that was like before. Only that he could imagine it and he did not know how, when he didn't remember much.
"Where a.. am... am I?"
Leo Ortiz patted the young man's shoulder and smiled. Brandon thought of the snake in the bible. He remembered that. He remembered being told to watch for snakes by someone. He heard the voice and it reminded him of the word home. Watch for snakes, said the voice, as noon sunlight poured around it. He squinted his eyes despite the raining dusk. He remembered hunting them; the reeds blowing with hot wind and a long, thin stick being jabbed, picking the way ahead. The voice said that snakes went for the ankle. He remembered one in a box, its tongue hissing past the lid with its wide, flat head. Who had said that?
He staggered alongside the old man until the distant sight of a house on a hill gradually revealed itself in the distance. It came to him then. A spontaneous, profound, painful recollection. With it, he imagined that he tasted blood in his mouth; viscous, warm and like metal. He knew that he had before.
All at once, as brutal as the storm, Brandon remembered everything.