Thunderstorm Story #6 · 7:30pm June 9th
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It's thunderstorm time.
I had to miss the last three thunderstorms that happened since May 24th; first I was sick in bed with a cold from the rain of the previous thunderstorm that soaked me and couldn't get up, then I had an episode of depression and didn't manage to leave bed because of it and the third thunderstorm happened while I was in a fastfood restaurant underground where I couldn't hear it and it was already almost over when I left the restaurant and had stopped completely when I was back at my computer. I am very happy with this year's thunderstorm season, though, six thunderstorms in one month and three days is a great number. It's a heavy thunderstorm season, so far.
This thunderstorm lasted for 1 Hour and 21 Minutes, of which I spent 1 Hour and 13 Minutes with writing (and researching a phrase to translate it). Here is the result:
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The thunder growled. And so did my guest in her sleep. It awakened me, stirred up from a nightmare that I cannot fathom. The house of my lord in ruins, flames everywhere and a creature I cannot describe looming over our city..... “Have the end times come?” I was mumbling when I woke up, but found that no such thing has happened. The arms of the clock in my chamber had hardly moved, it must have been thirty minutes at most that I was in slumber, I figured. How can a myriad of time pass in dreams while the waking reality sees little time go by?
The storm had grown worse. So had Tornado Bolt's fever. She was almost glowing, I could feel it, how my hoof became hot when I touched her forehead and her arms. She would not survive the night, I was sure in this moment.
I stepped to the window, unable to find any more sleep in this troubled night, and observed the storm. The burnt tree was still there, nopony would come to clean up these remains of what was once life during a night like this. It rested sprawled out along the length of the street, reaching the next house and yet the next house after it. The stump left in the ground was black, the fire had been put out by the rain, but..... Was this a face that it formed or were my senses fooling me? It looked like it begged for help..... but nothing to help with was there anymore. This tree's time had come and maybe the time for my guest had, as well. Were their fates intertwined?
The thunder burst again, lightning whipped across the sky right above the house that stood opposite, and another thunder tormented my ears. She stirred, as well, I noticed. “Meno patris,” her lips suddenly formed the words. It made me turn around and stare at her, for the words had been spoken with nothing short than the tongue of a devil. A filly did not have a voice like that, never was that an occurrence. Only sickness could bring forth such a voice. But what did the words mean?
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I didn't expect that the story would turn so tragic in this part. I was researching what "Meno patris" means after I heard Tornado Bolt speak this phrase.
"Patris" is latin and means "Father". It's the genitive form of "Pater". "Meno", in its latin origin, means "Less" or "Minus". A rough translation of the phrase is "Minus Father". It means that Tornado Bolt has to live minus her father now, because he died and vanished from her life. A better translation I could make is "Vanishment Father". And because "Patris" is the genitive, the correct translation is "The Vanishment of Father".
Tornado Bolt dreams about the death of her father and how he is not with her anymore and mumbles in her sleep "Father has vanished." or "Father is gone."
I knew that it is a horror story since I began writing it, but not a tragedy. This development caught me off-guard. I feel sad for Tornado Bolt now.
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