Sunlight peeks through the clouds as the storm rages on. Cracks of thunder reverberate through the still air. I stand at the corner of Front Street and Union, drenched from the top of my head to my dark brown converse high tops. Cold but content, I look out over lake Michigan. Raindrops hit the water rhythmically. Taylor Swift could write a song to it, but she isn’t here. I count 10,923,171 cracks of thunder. No more come.

Remarkably, the pavement under my shoes is a light tan – almost white – as if there had been no rain at all. Now, the world is silent and still. No wind, no rain, no bird calls. A small crab scurries in front of me. Straining my ears, I listen for any sound the crab might make.

Silence. 

Ouch! The silence is hurting my ears. I try to call out to someone, anyone. 

Ryanne! No sound comes out of my mouth. 

I am stuck.