Words to the Wind

I couldn't go off to bed without relaying something interesting, nay even amusing that happened earlier this evening.

A storm came up quickly with a little thunder, a little rain, and a little wind. I say "little" because this was nothing like a hurricane in any size shape or form. As the storm came up and as I was in here debating on whether or not it was dangerous enough to warrant me to cease writing and turn the computer off the wind picked up this mournful pace and whispering whistle. The rain pounded outside and in my minds eye I could see the street and how it must look in the rain beneath the street lights when voices began approaching.

There were two distinct voices - a man and a woman - and one that was distant sounding and almost garbled (I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman) and sounded fake. Laughter was in each voice. Finally the man clumped and splashed closer by the sounds of him and his voice verified he was probably just across the street.

"Come on GOD! Do it! Hit me! I dare ya! You don't have the balls to hit me!"

I stopped writing. I stopped moving. I just listened. He said it twice. Each time it was filled with cocky pride and almost hope God really would hit him, and also half afraid.

What would he have done if God had obliged him?

I think he was a little relieved nothing happened, and somewhat saddened. I would be.