The wind blows through the trees, the thunderstorm rumbles loudly over me.
The lightning bolts - red, yellow, orange, white, and even purple - light up the cloudy sky.
The rain patters noisily - so noisy that I can hardly hear the music from my headphones anymore - on the floor and I sit by the open window and enjoy the play of light and the fresh air, even if the rain sometimes slaps right in my face.
I love thunderstorms, rain, lightning - which I can sometimes be afraid of - and the sound of the rain, the smell of fresh, rain-laden air and the wood of the trees that are washed clean.
This is just the thing after this heat wave.
It's just a shame my mother won't allow me to go for a walk in this weather.
Actually, I shouldn't even have my window open, let alone sit by it.
I should be lying down, as usual.
But I just can't do that now. Not in this weather, even if sitting is very strenuous.
I haven't set foot out of this house for years and actually I'm just lying in bed.
Because my illness makes me bedridden and everything else is terribly exhausting.
At some point I'll die of this disease, I know that, even if my mother just doesn't want to admit it.
She tries to "change" my destiny, but there is no cure.
I do not care.
As long as I live, I want to at least see the life out there. In my head I picture all of this how it would be if I weren't sick.
I would play, laugh, make fun and make friends to hang out with.
Still, there is no denying that I am afraid of death.
But at least it won't hurt.
The doctor said I'll probably just fall asleep at some point, not even notice it, and just never wake up again.
I hope he's right, because then I don't have to go through such fear.But I don't want to think about that now, it's raining so nicely.
Smiling, I look out of the open window and take a deep breath of fresh air.
Wonderful.
My hair is already very wet from the rain that the wind blows into my face once more, but still.
So beautiful. So fresh and these lights ...

~ °°° ~ * † * ~ °°° ~

When the door to her room opened the next morning, her mother froze.
She sat by the open window, her arms on the windowsill, her head on her arms and smiled in her sleep while a few strands of her wet hair fell over her face.
And somehow her mother knew when she saw her daughter like this:
She would never wake up from this dream again.
Her last look had been on a brilliant white lightning bolt that had taken her with her ...

† ~ end ~ †