The electricity once shared with her husband has long since faded, yet she aches. Unsure if it’s the coldness of their bed or her empty womb, she creeps outside. The thrum of the storm promising something new.
In the fields, she finds his silhouette etched on the towering corn, Mjölnir held aloft. Surrendering herself, tributaries of purple perforate the sky. The anvil cloud above them swells.
She steadies her nerve and the lightning crackles. Lichtenberg figures plume across her skin. Body humming, she kneels in the dust and waits until he grants her rain heavy enough to nourish new life.
Keely O’Shaughnessy is compelled to write. When not writing, she likes discussing David Bowie with her cat. She’s Managing Editor at Flash Fiction Magazine.