Miles away, a raucous gathering of moisture, darkness, and transience played catch with shafts of pure, hot light, each toss accompanied by a mosh pit of billions of molecules of nitrogen, oxygen, and their friends each bumping their neighbors outward to make room for their own individual, short-lived dance of excitement. The sound of this dance in the distance once again brought Floyd back to the present, where the earth continued to turn underneath his still head.
Floyd turned his head ever so slightly and then just a bit further to the right; he saw on the horizon, churning in on itself, never standing still, not quite moving, shades of dancing blackness, visible as an absence of stars and a hint of the movement of a monster hiding in a child's closet. As he watched, an illumination flickered, lighting the storm from behind, making visible one sliver of darkness upon which Floyd's eyes locked as it broke from the mass.
As the lightning faded, the small cloud remained locked in Floyd's vision. An ethereal surfer, it gathered its mass, shifting from vapor to liquid as it rode a wave of thunder. Floyd first heard the vanguard of a sound, a subtle shifting of air scuffing against itself.
And then somebody punched Floyd's eardrums and rattled the rocks in the ground around him, and all of the deer, coyotes, bears, and bison jumped out of their hiding spots, and all of the trout, carp, turtles, and tadpoles shot up out of their watery homes, and all of the crows, jays, robins, and sparrows flew down from their nests, and they pointed and they laughed terrible and loud laughs, and the cloud was still flying toward him like the gift of a sniper, a confused sniper with perfect aim and the cacophony ground its heels into Floyds brain.
Silence. The slight scuff of the sound of Floyd being dragged across the grassy ground, but otherwise nothing.
Straining to focus on what was now a single drop of water, Floyd's eyes, for just a hint of a moment, crossed as the droplet pulled his focus too close before landing in the center of his forehead, a cold, crisp drip.
Floyd's eyes uncrossed as he relaxed his gaze. He noticed a background white noise, static, in the distance, punctuated by cracks of thunder, loud and intermittent. The noise grew louder, and Floyd noticed that the stars did not stretch out as far as before. They were, in fact, disappearing, being tucked in to a great black blanket. And the static was louder. And the static stepped from the background to the foreground. And then a river began flowing directly out of the sky, washing over Floyd.
"Myra, yer mom died," Floyd croaked. "Sumbuddy hitter with uh truck."