“A Ravaged Heart in the Storm”

Dear Readers,

The storm had rolled in without warning, the sky a dark bruise stretching endlessly above. Mr. J stood alone, rain slamming down with a ferocity that felt almost personal as if the heavens had chosen this night to match the turmoil he carried inside. He had just picked up a food parcel from Daya in Saligao, her delicious cooking promising comfort, a momentary escape from his heavy thoughts.

But now, instead of savouring the meal, he stepped further into the downpour, letting the icy drops pierce his skin and drench him to the bone. It felt cathartic, like a cleansing ritual. Thunder rumbled low and ominous, echoing the thoughts that whirled in his head, thoughts he had kept buried beneath layers of forced smiles and weary words.

At that moment, Mr. J let go. The tears that blurred his vision were indistinguishable from the rain. He stood there, heart aching, letting the storm wash over him, each drop a release of all the pain he had locked inside. No one would ever see him cry, not in a storm like this.

A flash of lightning split the sky, bright and sharp, and for a moment, Mr. J contemplated the unthinkable. What would it feel like to be struck, to have the storm’s energy surge through him and take everything away? The thought lingered, heavy and persistent. If the storm could silence the world, maybe it could silence the chaos within.

He walked closer to a nearby tree, its branches twisting upward, straining toward the heavens. The mud sucked at his shoes, pulling him down as if the earth itself was trying to hold him back. Then it happened—another blinding flash, a bolt of pure, violent light that shattered the dark, striking the tree, splintering wood, and sending the air ablaze with an electric hum. The tree shook, leaves and branches scorched, the smell of burning wood mixing with the scent of wet earth.

Mr. J froze, heart pounding, skin tingling from the shockwave. The lightning had missed him by mere feet, but it jolted him from his thoughts, tearing him from the dark corners of his mind where he had been spiralling. He stood there, shaking, as the rain washed away the moment, erasing it like it had never happened.

But something lingered. The storm had spared him, left him standing in its wake, as if mocking him, daring him to keep fighting or to fall apart. The rain was no gentler, the wind no calmer, but there was something different in the air now—a raw, unfiltered truth that made Mr J feel, for just a moment, that he was still here, still breathing, even if he didn’t know why.

With Daya’s food parcel clutched in his hands, he whispered into the storm, “What are you waiting for?” But there was no answer, just the endless downpour and the faint smell of smoke from the charred tree. Mr. J didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe an end, maybe a beginning, but as he stood there, drenched to the core, he realized the storm was more than just rain and lightning—it was a Reckoning.

God Bless Us All