Rainstorm
He watched it approach, like a big cat, full of mischief. Low oppressive clouds rolling over the horizon. They were dark and gray, undulating from a far off wind, churning a storm held within. The road was long, stretching (or so it seemed) on forever. It was an empty road, and Paul Christian swore loudly into the emptiness. For all he knew, it could stretch all the way to Canada, or off the very edge of the map itself. He had see no cars, no truck stops, no people for as much as 60 miles. For all he knew, he had already fallen off the map. The clouds inched closer.

The empty road called back the lyrics of a song long forgotten to Paul. They popped into his unwilling mind, and he couldn't push them away.

There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go, no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone

Paul had left the path chosen for him. One day he woke up to find that his kind demeanor had gone. He hadn't noticed it leave, as a childhood friend can fade from one's mind. And when he noticed he had changed, he was helpless to change it.

Paul swore again. Huge raindrops were hitting the windshield with great force. He was going to be, already was caught in a huge storm, and there wasn't a thing he could do, or a place he could go.

The road became slippery, and his car quickly hard to handle. The Mercedes fishtailed into the guard rail.

There was silence. Deep, engulfing, all consuming silence that was so worse than the sound of crunching metal he had heard before.

A voice spoke in the silence. It was loud and commanding, yet somehow silent, seeming more like thoughts than actual words to Paul.

"You strayed from the path fate set you." said the voice. "You took the fork that led to darkness and let your should get eaten away. You must be punished."

The voice was gone. The silence returned, and sight faded away. Darkness and silence was the whole world.

Paul Christian was dead long before the lightning struck the car.

The clouds rolled away.

"Je-sus!" said Ted Casey, looking upon the charred remains of a Mercedes. It had been struck by lighting. Paul lay dead in the front seat. Somehow, the radio was on. Jerry Garcia's voice floated from the shattered windows.

There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go, no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone

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