Your eyes open to darkness.
The fan sounds like sheets of rain crashing down on the streets outside,
the electricity surging is the thunder rumbling
until its zenith
where it claps,
punctuating the rain's whirring.
The heat crouches on you,
dormant,
like your back is to a fire, until the wind whispers past,
stroking you,
fleetingly,
with its fingers,
a tide crashing up the beach of your back only to sweep away again.
The fan halts the bead of sweat that runs down the indentation of your spine, a but-once running river, but only for a second before it may again pick its way down.
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