Alice would tear through the wrapper, indulging in the sweet smell of the kitkat before biting down on it, hard. She was such a chocolate lover. She would hold the broken pieces in her mouth, hoping that this time it would make the taste just stay forever.
Michael sat tucked up in bed on weekends, duvet pulled high to his chin, glasses pushed high on his nose, pyjama bottoms rolled up high to his knees. He'd sit with his back high up straight, and his head held high so that when he watched tv on his laptop at least his back wouldn't do in. He was an achiever, old Mikey.
It was a monday when Alice opened her bag and saw that there was no shiny red wrapper. She almost choked on her own saliva, her shock was THAT penetrating. Seriously, it was an extreme omg moment. She was kneeling on the floor, digging through her bag, back turned to the rest of the world, as she searched like a madman for her glowing holy grail.
Nowhere.
She bit her lip, turned around and sat on her bag, punishing it for keeping the chocolate from her.
Michael was still in bed.
That exact same monday that Alice's kitkat fix was denied her, she walked in to a lamppost. Coincidence?
Bah, nothing's coincidence. Least of all kitkat deprivation and then head pain. The world was clearly screaming something at her.
She stopped walking to lean against the brick wall beside her so that she could ponder the content of the scream.
Michael blinked disbelievingly.
His laptop was out of battery.
It was NEVER unplugged. Never. Something must have gone seriously, seriously wrong with the world. He suspected evil gnomes.
So he bent over, picked the charger up off of the floor and plugged it back in to his laptop.
Woh. His entire brain span with fear. Was that a disc that just slipped out of his back?
It seemed that that monday was unkind to everyone: Some found that there was just too much oil slick on the ground for their taste, as their wheels turned futilely in it. Some found that the car bastards were passing just about anyone nowadays, even people who drove in to vats of icky oil and then through it all up in your face and on your newly ironed white shirt.
Some found that their converses scuffed the floors just one too many times.
Alice was crying, although you couldn't tell to look at her, the way that the rain was painting her a depressive maniac anyway. There was a roar, and she squinted as she looked up, frowning with distaste.
Was lightning really necessary? Seriously? Did the world hate her THAT much? What was so wrong with enjoying chocolate? What was so wrong with sitting at home and reading and dunking chocolate digestives in to tea?
What was so wrong with her that needed this severe a punishment? It was then that Alice realised that there was nothing wrong with what she did, nothing wrong at all. But there was nothing insanely right with it either. It was simply a nothing, not black or white or even grey. It was inconsiderable in that aspect: harmless.
Did harmless ever seduce a greek god? NO.
She bit her lip, tilting her head to the right slightly as she considered this raw truth. Adopting chocolate-eating as a lifestyle doesn't exactly scream 'Love Me' in neon lights either.
Maybe the lightning wasn't so bad after all, she thought, staring up at the flashing sky.
Maybe it wasn't a scream, or a sigh, or a call, or even a gentle murmur. Maybe it was just a giant spotlight for everyone- reminding people that plain old dull blue skies never took anyone's notice.
Michael hobbled out of bed, convinced that the rest of his spine would fall out if he didn't get to hospital asap.
He grabbed the car keys off of the kitchen table, and, one hand held at his back to stem the flow of discs, pulled the front door open.
Alice lifted her head fully up to the sky.
She liked chocolate and she liked reading and bed, and blankets. But she also liked life, and she wasn't rolling in it at the moment.
She didn't want to run in to the station tomorrow morning, hair swept up in a giant pineapple-fruit-basket-do, that wasn't what she wanted. No. Alice decided there and then, soaking wet, lacking the familiar taste of chocolate, that she wanted to skip out of the harmless section.
She didn't have to be harmful, she didn't even have to be sharp. Or heavy. She could be... Shiny. Glittery. Covered in pink sparkles. She could be inspired. She grinned. Oh, yeah.
She extended a hand out, admiring the raindrops splattered all over her palm. This moment, it seemed to say: "take me". SHe stepped off of the pavement in to the empty residential road, and span around.
Michael stood in awe, unable to interrupt the girl before him and her amazingness. Her long dark hair fanned out around her as her jumper's hood fell down, useless. He almost wanted to scream as it all got matted down by the rain, but the way that she ran her hands back through it, laughing made him hold any screaming back. He'd hold it back forever if he had to, just to let her have that moment.
She craned her neck up, just staring at the rain coming out of what seemed like nowhere, and then, there was a hand at her waist, and someone grinning beside her. She shook her head, laughing, as she spun in to his arms, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other in his safe, warm palm.
Michael spun her around, unable to stop smiling. It wasn't painful though, it was gentle. It was sweet. It had been a long time since he had felt anything besides anxiety.
Together, they whizzed around for about fifteen minutes, eyes locked on each other. Then, when their clothes were weighing them down, Michael took her hand and led him in to his house. She wrung her hair out on the door mat, as he shrugged his coat off, then took hers and splayed it on the floor.
"Tea?" he asked, and she grinned. He gave her the best mug in the house, the big, fat, dark blue one that held about a gallon. When they were settled, both with towels draped uselessly over their shoulders, she bit her lip.
"When you missed the normal train last week I almost had a panic attack looking around the carriage for you" she told him.
He smiled, "I took my sister's dog out for a walk, he just had surgery." She nodded. She loved a sensitive dog person.
And then they just sat there, consumed in all of the conversations that they always wished they'd have, the rest of the world full of angst, full of angry-at-lightning people, everyone but them and a few other lucky ones completely oblivious to the wonder of a good lightning storm.
A good storm can light up your world. It can rip down the illusions, and the things that you pretended to know.
It can bring two people who got on the same train every day for the past two years, to a dance in the rain, to a cup of tea, to a conversation, to love...
From then on, Alice would get a twirl, or a box of ferrero rochers if she was feeling ambitious, or a yorkie, or even the occasional kitkat which would make her grin. She would push whatever button she felt like on the vending machine, and she would always get what she pushed for. She would have some bad days, but the storms, real, or emotional, would always clear them out, always give her the pink sparkly aura that made her shine.
And Michael would slouch down on the sofa when they watched tv, because that way their bodies fit right next to each other, and he could lean his head against hers and smile because there was nothing to worry about.
He never slipped a disc. Ah, love.
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