Karice Jarm

Retaliation Earth

As a child I'd often stare out my window in awe of the summer storms that would trample through my neighborhood. When I was around 3 my mother taught me to make a game of waiting for a lightning strike so I could count the seconds between the blinding flash and the accompanying roll of thunder. She told me that every second counted as one mile, challenging me to try and figure out how far away the storm was. Looking back, I think it was just a way for her to train me to be less afraid of the bright surges of light and deafening cracks that intruded the vast depths of my young mind. I digress, things like that don't matter much anymore. Still, I can't help but catch my mind grappling at memories of the way life used to be, like a young kid stretching to reach the candy jar on top of the fridge. My normal suburban childhood seems like nothing but a hazy memory now and I suppose thinking about it, as much as it may bring back a sense of normalcy and comfort, does more harm than good in the chaotic world humanity was plunged into.