Impossibility

He cursed as he watched the back lights of the bus recede. He could’ve touched it. Almost. The train had been just three minutes late, but why should the bus driver wait an extra minute for the train’s passengers to get to the bus station? That was apparently too much consideration for the people reliant on public transit.

Now he was met with a choice: Waiting for the next bus and walking home would take roughly the same time. He could either walk thirty minutes or wait twenty and then sit down for ten minutes while the bus took the long route.

Exercise was supposed to be healthy. So he took a deep breath and fought his frustration down, turned around, took the underpass to the other side of the train tacks and walked up the hill that separated the suburb he was living in from the bigger part of the city that was home to the train station.

There were very few people on that path, and none he knew. Everyone else was either early enough to get the bus, waited for the next one, or were smart enough to own a car. Even if he didn’t know that many people, he had at least more true friends than he owned cars. For many people it was probably the other way around.

He had to stop for a moment as he arrived at the top of the hill. He felt as if he was burning. He probably had even less endurance than an empty car, something that was exacerbated by the fact that he was mostly sitting at a desk at work. It was only at times like these that he thought about working out a bit more. Otherwise he really felt fine and there was no need to change anything. He’d probably forget his resolution as soon as he unlocked the door to his home.

The way downhill renewed his vigor and he was sure that he was even faster than on the way up. So far the next bus wouldn’t even have departed from the train station. If he hurried he could probably even make it a minute earlier than anticipated. He took the country road roughly half-way, then walked left onto the field road. Once he was past the corn fields, he’d be almost home.

The field road had its fair share of potholes, or as a certain author would have put it: Perfect beds for puddles to form and live in. Which meant that he had to dance and slalom around them more often than not, but since it was still going downhill, it wasn't as exhausting as the way up the hill.

Thunder roared as he reached the midpoint of the first field. The world really wanted to make him work out today, didn't it? Grimacing, he accelerated, knowing that a thunderstorm was often accompanied by rain. So often in fact, that you could think of them as a couple. One he didn’t really want to meet personally. But that couple was faster than him. Or at least the thunderstorm was. The sky became darker with each step he took. It was almost as if night had fallen from one step to the next. It was hard to see anything. The puddles in the potholes were probably just waiting for his foot to visit because he couldn’t see them anymore.

He noticed, how thunder and lightning came closer to each other, almost synchronizing. The thunderstorm was almost upon him. While he was out in the open. Great. At least the rain had decided to stay home for now.

Lightning and thunder were coming at the same time now, and with such a rhythm that his eyes could barely adjust to the darkness. This wasn’t normal, was it? Usually the chance to get hit by lightning was less than winning the lottery, but right now, he got the feeling that he was lucky enough to win. And he hadn’t played the lottery at all. Why was he only lucky when it came to bad weather?

Then the lightning came. The thunder was so loud that he was sure he’d lost his hearing. The light was so bright that he could barely see anything. While the pressure of the sound was gone—at least he thought so—he still couldn't hear anything—the lightning was not. To his left and to his right two continuous streams of lightning were coming down. He didn’t move. He was stunned. Even if he could have—any step could’ve been his end. But that was his rational mind, drowned out by his feral mind that screamed “flee, you idiot!”, which, in turn, was drowned out by fear.

There was a pressure in the air again coming from behind him. He thought he heard thunder over the ringing in his ears and turned around. There were two more streams of lightning there. An impossibility, if he had ever seen one, just played out around him.

Then a fifth lightning bolt came down right in front of him. His mind shut down. There was no rational explanation. His feral mind was stunned as well, unsure where to go. And his fear … had probably released a muscle that should’ve stayed closed until he was home.

The five bolts of lightning closed in on him. The water of the puddles evaporated with unheard death cries. The air around him got hot. The biting smell of burning asphalt reached his nose. Then, just as the streams of lightning converged on top of him, he had one last thought: He should’ve bought a lottery ticket.