The Lightning Catcher

Open fields and malicious winds create the perfect place to reel a catch. A large rain cloud, a cumulonimbus cloud for some who care, stretches across the lonely landscape of wheat. Arteries of blood red and ice blue streak the sky, an eerie sight, believe me. The farmer’s old wife, of yonder past, is the brave soul who challenges the heavens and reaps its arsenal of light. The cloud shoots a torpedo of power to the ground, making the farmer grin.

Dora catches the lightning and her husband bottles it. Together they help each other catch lightning to sell on the black market. One jar has enough power to keep a city lit for years. Their risky business keeps these seniors busy throughout summer and occasionally in winter.
‘Dora, how’s it looking? Any luck yet?’ the farmer’s voice croaked.

‘No, not yet, Jack. The weather will pick up now.’ His wife’s frail hand is shaking, making the rod wave in the wind.
‘It’s starting to get violent, dear. Don’t you think we must--’ He’s interrupted by a raspy shriek.

‘I have one!’ the ground was shaking and a streak of neon blue light was touching the rod. Dora’s hair is standing straight up as if encoring the heavenly power. ‘Bring the jar! Bring it now!’ his wife is exhausted.

Jack scrambled around to find the jars. It was so bright he struggles to find them. After a few seconds he finds the jars, lying beneath the wheel barrow. He grips the jar’s spiraled neck and unscrews its heartwood lid.

‘Don’t let go, dear. I’m coming.’ The crippled elder is sprinting as best he could.

After handing his wife the jar and taking a few steps back, she transfers the electricity to the glass vessel. No one knows how they transfer the lightning from the rod to the jar.

‘Finished.’ His wife hands him the sparkling jar, seeming like a gypsy’s crystal ball.

The farmer stares at the mystical jar, ‘Want to catch more, dear?’

‘I think so. The weather is picking up.’ His wife stands posed for the next reel.

After many more catches the lightning had subsided and rain was imminent. The farmer picked up three jars careful and carried it to their trusty old wheel barrow. The rusted vehicle had seen its day many years ago. The glowing jars vibrated slightly and lit the dark. The crooked dirt path was bumpy and Jack did not want to risk breaking a jar, so he took his time.

The rain was pouring when they got to their quaint farmhouse.

‘Put the jars in the garage for the night, Jack’ his wife is out of breath.

Jack seems uneasy ‘Will it be safe? I don’t know if it is such a good idea.’

‘I can’t see why it won’t.’ his wife thinks deeply, ‘Put it in the garage, it’s safer there than here.’

Jack agrees and takes the wheel barrow through the narrow corridor leading to the back door. He takes out a rusty key and opens the metal door. He carefully enters the garage and turns on a light. He starts by taking one jar and packing it on the cheap pine shelf. After all eleven jars are placed on the shelf, he stopped to admire them. He turns off the light and catches a glimpse of how the jars create an aurora of blue in the dusty garage.

‘They’re safe, dear.’ the old man is very tired and sits down at the kitchen table to eat his food.

Later that night, Jack awoke to hear a strange noise. What a peculiar noise it was. It was eerie, a silent noise. What is it? He was dying from intent curiosity. He clobbered out of bed and put his slippers on. He started down the creaky flight of stairs ignoring the darkness. Once on the first floor, he turned the kitchen light on. The sound was in harmony, a continuous hum. He inspected the kitchen and declared that it was not the source. The continued his investigation and found that the sound was getting more intense.

He looks in the bathroom but to no avail, the sound was not there. A fear grips the old man, a sudden, intense fear. The garage, the source of the noise! He slowly walked towards the metallic door and the hum continued. The strange noise was increasing in volume with every step towards the door. He is scared and hesitates to enter the garage. He approaches the door with the key and turns the knob. The door opens slowly.

The jars were humming and red light flamed the walls of the garage. He approached the jars slowly, curiosity lured him closer. The red aurora reminded the farmer of flames. The jars were humming in symphony and as red as blood. Jack did not want to pick one up, but the beautiful hum made him do it.

His arthritic hand shook slightly and he felt the cool glass jar. He picked it up slowly and put it against his ear. A hum spoke to him, a beautiful hum. He listened in contempt. There was another noise that made him shudder. There was a loud bang, a thunderous explosion. He got such a fright he dropped the jar. Electricity surged throughout the garage, the quaint house, the farm too. The other jars exploded creating jets of energy towards the clouds. The farm was lit with blue light and nothing ceased to exist anymore.

The farmer and his wife found their fate late that night. Those jars were mysterious in many ways. Its color, mystique and hum was so strange, so alien. The old man and his old wife were killed when lightning escaped from the jars. They were killed by lightning inside their house. Is that not ironic?