God of Thunder


Billowy clouds overhead, the night knows peace.
The wind sinks and swirls along the Earth, hugging the ground before rising back up and carving an opening in the clouds.
The stable gate opens, and from them horses emerge.
Their distant hooves disrupt the silence, like a whisper in the dark.
The sound grows louder. The clang of iron shoes on cobblestone.
More waves of horses deploy, endlessly trotting across the sky.
Finally among them is drawn a chariot, steered by a mighty man shrouded in mist. He pulls a rod of fire from his back. Hurled down below, a silent flash turns night into day.
The horses neigh and yaw in response as the reins are pulled in.
More fire is hurled, more horses yell.
The mist shrouding the man wears thin, and he retreats back up into the heavens. The horses continue trotting until they finally fade away into fog.
All that’s left: dripping, a dog’s howl, a distant rumble.