Thunder, Lightning

T h u n d e r ,  L i g h t n i n g

Dark rain hissed menacingly as it pelted down onto the rooftop, slicing cruelly through the leaves and drowning the newly-blossomed flowers in unforgiving puddles of cold, fallen water. Thunder crashed, bellowing in a resonating rumble that shook a person to the core, reminding them of their own pitiful powerlessness.

Homura was one such person.

She would always wonder what those shuddering blasts were. When she was was very young, her mother had told her it was the sound of the angels bowling, playing a merry game until the rain had passed over. She liked to believe it was true, as the image of white-clad cherubs laughing together always brought her peace and subsided her shivers to a melancholy state.

But it was within recent years when Homura had finally rejected that theory. The happy thought no longer surfaced in her mind when thunder shook the world. Instead, she heard faraway screeches, the tortured bellowing of suffering souls without control of their fates or actions. It was an ominous, terrifying sound, laden with the anguished screams of thousands of existences gone horribly amiss. The sky shuddered and the earth trembled, and they continued to cry out in agony, their tears staining the world below.

However, every moment or so, a ray of light would strike through the air, silent and powerful, like the blessing of a calm moment in a tumult of constant suffering. It would brighten the sky repeatedly throughout the course of the storm, casting the hopeful light for just a second longer every time.

Homura used to live under the impression that this silent savior of white was called lightning, but she now had not an ounce of doubt within her being that it was something else entirely.

"Madoka..." She smiled, but it was a tiny, bitter smile that was still unable to show true happiness.
She knew it was the work of a goddess, bestowing peace upon the storm with her pure white arrows of light and love. Each time it struck, the darkness subsided further, and the moaning cries of the helplessly damned eased, as though caressed by the gentle touch of her hand.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the darkness would vanish. The howling thunder would dissolve and the rain would come to an abrupt halt, as though the tormented souls had been comforted at long last, and their tears had finally been stopped by some reassuring blessing. The clouds would part and give way to the rays of sunlight that were hope itself, the draggled flowers lifting their weary heads cautiously before extending their petals to the warmth bathing them, drying the drowning waters.

"Madoka..." Again, she breathed out that name, because she knew it was a name. She was the only person in the entire universe who did.

And that was precisely why she loved thunderstorms.

On occasion, Homura would see them, the parents and younger brother of the person she knew that once lived with them, but had no concrete proof of other than Homura's own existence. Whenever she heard that young boy mention 'Madoka', she found a grain of solace in her life.

Yet he did not truly understand what that word - no, that name - meant to the world. He did not even know what it meant to him or his parents, nor did he comprehend why he spoke it so often.

But it was something.

Countless times, Homura had been on the brink of slipping into the utmost despair, with nothing left to cling to as the earth crumbled beneath her. She knew that she was the only person who held those memories; her body had experienced that warmth, as well as the painful scars that were necessary in order to protect it.

But at times, she felt cold.
It had been more than once that she had convinced herself it had all been nothing more than a dream, a delusional fantasy brought about by her own expansive imagination.

What if she was lying to herself?

She could believe that her mind was playing tricks on her heart, that she was fooling herself into a lifetime that never occurred. What if it had always been demons she fought, and never witches at all?

"What if Madoka never-"

But just before she could ever finish the thought, a blast of thunder would shake the air. Even if the sky was blue and cloudless, whenever her thoughts lead her astray down that shadowed path, something always stopped her just before she stepped off the edge.

The first blast was always different from the rest, as though Madoka herself was crying out, begging her not to take that final step into oblivion.
Then, that white light would spread across Homura's vision, bathing her in an innocent warmth that was painfully nostalgic.
She would then burst into tears as the rain began to pour, appalled at herself for what she had almost done.

That was why she loved thunderstorms. They reminded her.

The very same events had transpired several times before, and had eventually brought her to the present, when the rain had ceased once again.

Homura stood from her bed and quietly crossed the room, unlatching the lock on her window and pushing it open with a creaking sound.

The crisp aftertaste of rain flowed through the window, pulling her long, onyx hair back on a gentle breeze, the red ribbon fluttering.

She breathed in the remains of the dissipating storm until it disappeared altogether.
What replaced it was a refreshing wind composed of the voices of those who had been salvaged from the depths of despair. When Homura closed her eyes, she could hear their song, brief but filled with peace, a peace that could only be experienced by martyrs previously ensnared by fate itself.

Homura no longer permitted her mind to doubt what her heart knew to be real.
As every arrow of light pierced the tortured screams with an essence that was almost motherly, Homura was able to truly smile.

Madoka was still doing her best to keep the world that Homura lived in as bright and as filled with hope as possible. Madoka continued to protect her, which was why Homura knew it was her part to return the favor.

Presently, she pressed her hands together and let her eyelids fall shut, just as she did after every storm had passed. "I'll never forget what you taught me, what you gave me..." She vowed. "It's my turn to protect you, Madoka." A lone teardrop fell down her cheek as she unclasped her hands, leaning on the window sill.

But just as she reached up to wipe it away, she felt a single droplet descended from the sky as it overlapped the trail of that tear, as though erasing it.
It was warm, as though it, too, was a tear shed from the eyes of someone who had endured so very much.

But it brought her great comfort, and Homura slowly touched her cheek as she gaze up into the dazzling blue sky.

"Thank you. I'll do my best today, too." She smiled once more as she promised this to the sky.
Then, she turned away from the window, leaving it ajar, her red ribbon flowing behind her on a gentle breeze.

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