Inside the White Light

“Maybe I should have waited after all.” Walking home in a thunderstorm was not Wilson’s idea of fun.

The thunderstorm wasn’t the only thing on his mind; the memory of his brother’s death eight years before boiled in his brain all day — and now all he wanted to do was get home and have a stiff drink or two. But before Wilson could take another step, a bright explosion of light blinded him.

Once Wilson’s vision returned, he discovered he was on the ground. His ear’s rang and he shook vigorously as his nerves misfired. When he was able to get to his feet, Wilson patted at his arms and legs, looking for possible burns.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Wilson jumped and turned around as a middle-aged man holding a selfie-stick with a cellphone on it’s end, came running towards him.

“Yeah. I think I’m okay.”

“I thought you were a goner. I’m pretty sure you were directly under that bolt of lightning.”

He quickly looked Wilson over, also finding nothing to show that he’d been struck by the lightening bolt. “So, where’s your friend?”


“Your friend?”

“What friend?”

“There was somebody standing right next to you. I think I might’ve gotten it on my camera.”

The man furiously fingered his cellphone. “Here, look.”

The man had taken a photo mid-strike, overexposed and filled with very little other than white. “I really can’t see anything.”

“Look, you’re both right there.”

Taking the cellphone from the man, Wilson looked closer. There were two people in the frame, both surrounded by the white light of the lightening bolt.  Goose bumps formed on Wilson’s arms and the hair stood up on his neck.

“I’m surprised you’re not dead.”

Wilson didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and began running; Wilson had to get home and drink the memory of his long-dead brother out of his head.