Sentinels of purposefully drudging charcoal clouds marching shoulder to shoulder across the dark sky. Overtaking a retreating sun, thundering cannons reverberate angry rumbling groans over a trembling ground beneath. A single Crraaack sounds a final warning. Silence. Spurting through the stillness, still clutching at the thick air, torrents of ammunition are swiftly unleashed. Water pellets rapid-fire off tin rooftops ricocheting in skewed vigor, the noisy calamity of repeated rounds of discharged intensity penetrate the unlucky few, exposed and unprotected, running for cover. It’s monsoon season in India.
~ by Christine Fowle