She was antsy. Crawling in her skin. Unsurprisingly agitated, although she hated to admit that, almost whole-heartedly refusing to believe what was happening, what was approaching. It was also unsurprising that she jumped when the thunder cracked right outside her window. She was just on edge. The noise wasn’t inherently scary; it was simply the harbinger of the torrents of rain that were now falling freely from the ominously-gray-but-eerily-bright sky. It was the unexpected noise, so loud she could feel it vibrate in her sternum, that made her shoot three feet off her chair and that, quite frankly, pissed her off. Why can’t I be one of those people who enjoy a thunderstorm? she wondered. One of those people who find them romantic or poetic or some shit. Her mind wandered but her eyes fell fairly quickly from the rain pelting her window to the coloring page in front of her. Fuck. She’d ruined her “masterpiece” when she nearly fell out of her chair. The anti-anxiety coloring book had kept her entertained enough, but god fucking dammit, now she was too aggravated to continue. Nothing like swapping anxiety for anger, right?
Thunder was shaking the same world outside the window, lighting periodically streaking across the same too-darkened sky. She was sitting at the same desk, existing in her same consciousness (she allowed for a momentary shiver to run through her as ideas that were far too philosophical for this time of day consumed and then released her). The same brain rested between her ears, that’s for sure. Although it might have been the first time she considered it to have been resting. It had been a long few months. But compared to the previous, oh, fourteen years, it hadn’t been that terrible of a summer. The streetlamp flickered on, illuminating the introspection that rolled like boiling water from the core of her being into the expanse of that consciousness that lived in that resting brain of hers. She wasn’t focusing on the obvious, but maybe better things lived a little deeper, ya know?