{ w h o } Walt. (solo, but open to reaction posts) { w h a t } Thunderstorms and Walt. { w h e n } Saturday into early Sunday morning. { w h e r e } The carnival grounds. { r a t i n g } PG
Walt had made a mental list of things he wanted to do Saturday. A nice long, annotated list of goals (mostly nonsense like 'annoy Carter'). He woke up at four in the morning by sheer will alone. By nine, he had all of his ramps torn down and all of his things ready to travel. He could spend the rest of the day checking things off his list.
But when he felt that first familiar ache in his left shoulder, his list and every other thought was blanked from his mind.
His ability to heal didn’t make him feel super. I just made him fortunate or perhaps even blessed. but even saying that much was being generous. The pain he felt in his shoulder whenever a storm was about to roll in, however, made him feel incredibly extraordinary. Nobody else seemed to know; it was like the universe had shared an amazing secret with him and him alone. That simple knowledge made him feel a hundred times more special than surviving five bullets through his middle, a hatchet in his chest, or ingesting a poisonous snake.
He climbed on top of his trailer, all the other tasks he’d lined up for day now suddenly unimportant and forgotten. People passed by as the hours dragged on, ants scurrying about their work. He couldn’t be bothered with them. Boring people leading boring lives. He couldn’t be turned off from the electricity he could seemingly feel in the air when a thunderstorm was about to hit.
When the first few raindrops hit his skin, it was like taking that first gasp of life, like being born. It grew into a torrent, and within seconds he was soaked through. He was wet and cold and alive. He jumped down from the roof of his trailer, but when he landed his feet immediately slipped out from underneath him in the wet grass. He hit the ground hard with a chopped grunt.
Laughter was slithering through his teeth like hissing snakes when he pushed himself up from the mud, dark brown smeared over his skin. His shoes were the first thing to go, hands sliding them off his feet before he stood. He wanted to feel the wet grass on his soles, mud between his toes, every scrape of rock and branch and grit. His hat and jacket followed shortly after.
He let out a loud whoop as he charged forward, kicking his foot into a puddle that had formed in a dip in the ground. Thunder rumbled and he just howled in return, like the roar of a wild beast. He tore the shirt from his body. He couldn’t be contained. Anything that would support his weight was scaled. He shouted at the heavens from the tallest tree he could find. He’d scream himself hoarse until the sky answered him. Arms were spread, wide and challenging, daring the winds and lightning to take him. Hail stung his skin, battering and bruising him. He could barely see through the rain matting his hair down and flowing over his face, over his skin.
He just yelled back into the howling wind and the rumbling clouds, until the sun dipped below the horizon. He wasn’t afraid.
It carried on through the night, the storm and his madness. The light of dawn was just starting to crest when it finally dissipated into showers. Walt was standing alone and panting in…the middle of somewhere. It didn’t matter. He meandered through the rain, still showering down on him relentlessly although much more quietly. He answered with a silence of his own, his energy spent, his naked body covered in mud and grass. Somewhere in the delirium, he'd lost his pants. He weaved his way back to his trailer, clambering back on top, where he would sit until it was time to go.
Run around in the rain and challenge the lightning. Check.