Fiction
The Boy Who Played with Lightning
There was a powerful electrical storm the night he was born.
The kind that they warn you about. One where gravel sticks to your shoes, and you most definitely don’t want to be caught outside.
The kind where there is a few moments of absolute silence, and then the skies open and drench the world. The winds roared, twisting limbs of trees and shattering trunks.
Every year there is a thunderstorm or two which are talked about the rest of the season, but this storm is still remembered.
No one knew quite what happened. The birth was routine. There were no complications, except the power going out for a few minutes.
That first night they kept saying it was the storm. The baby shocked the nurses. But they said it was because the storm outside was so strong.
Then his mother’s hair started standing on end when she held him.
Then there was the sneeze.
Most of the time a baby sneezing is adorable.
But when he sneezed a bolt of lightning shot across the room and blew a computer apart.
“I think we should call the doctor,” was all the nurse could say.
