The vibrant green lights of her clock taunted her indefinitely, resolutely shining in the darkness, calling her own matching green eyes, merely toned down ever so slightly in intensity, to flash towards the digits over and over again. Had a minute gone by since she last glanced? She simply had to check, felt the deep need to swivel and occupy her eyes. To push the wispy strands of deep brown hair, so nearly black, beyond her vision and once more towards the flopping bundle of hair held atop her head by a thick elastic band. Felt the drawing to constantly view the clock in hopes some odd half hour had passed in the midst of all her tossing and turning, that she'd magically fallen asleep, if only fleetingly, despite her body's seemingly success in becoming an insomniac over the last year. Or, at least hoping it was sometime near three or four in the morning, the oddly peaceful hours of watching the outside world, the occasional broken down car, before chirping birds, as opposed to 1:21.

After so long a person can begin to sketch out the night, so to speak, and the hour of one was hardly enticing. Somewhere around the time a book gets boring, and television is out of the question as it's gone completely downhill.

Kicking back the deep red sheet entangled about her legs from her constant twisting and turning, the twenty-one year old sat up in defeat, straightening her grey camisole. No sleep could be attained tonight, or at least not at this hour and with her mind. Instead she took to tugging at her red shorts, adorned with the characters of Snoopy and Woodstock as her eyes fully adjusted to the darkness she'd been hoping to avoid if she closed her eyes long enough. Not a fear of the dark, just a wish for sleep.

Here, as she was debating whether or not to slip into her shower and get an early start on her weekend, the soft pitter-patter of water droplets graced her ears from her unblinded window at the foot of her bed, which she swiftly crawled to so that she could better see the outside world, three stories below her. A bit high for her, wary of heights more than ten feet, but it was a wonderful apartment: a kitchen, full bath, and two bedrooms--one morphed to a living room, for a fair enough price. Plus, miles from any family, the one true demand of hers.

The window was closed, locked, and sealed as it always had been to help her to keep out the nasty allergies of hers, so that she could breathe properly during her bland nights at the very least. For this moment, however, she stretched out from her position, sinking into the mattress, to grasp the centered lock on the window, blearily twisting her fingers to unlatch it with her hazy and delassation filled mind. Allergens could be washed away, but perhaps she could open the window, just three inches or so, and smell the sweet, dewy and fresh smell of the rain, the wind. Just three inches, it stuck, held fast, as the brunette attempted to slide it up upon its frame. Eventually, after having resorted to set her weight onto her knees, narrowing her eyes in quiet contemplation of the creaking frame, victory set out.

Yes, she won nonetheless, forced the glass up on its track and exposed three glorious inches of the wet screen, glistening with droplets. Rain was her friend, her greatest companion having grown up lakeside, the sweet smell of it still the world's greatest wonder to her. Grasping the bottom wooden base, she leaned ever closer to sniff the temptational pride of her childhood, to immerse herself in both the glorious smell and wondrous memories of passing so very much time in the cloud covered mists and storms.

Sentimental, namby-pamby for storms, but they were the greatest constant of her life. More so than even the lone and husbandless mother, happier always to spend a night with a new stranger of a man rather than her daughter. As to that, she slowly raised her right hand from the wooden base which her left hand still clenched tightly, bending her wrist slightly to allow it betwixt the glass and screen, just a tic off-center, leaning towards but never touching the deeply dampened screen. The soft and clear mist grazed her fingertips, a tingling sensation tracing her skin just as a stream of lightning flashed, the definite bolt indiscernible.

The sudden flash of light sent her blinking, having been on unaware, and quickly retracting her hand from its exposed position, sealing and clamping the window once more as the storm picked up speed just opposite the cool wall she was so very close to. Her mind was sent reeling, but only temporarily before a soft smile set about her lips faintly, and she swung her legs over the foot of her bed. She stood still for barely a moment, Snoopy shorts sliding down to their full length before she happily sprinted down her short, carpeted hall to grasp both her keys and a nutty-bar, so wonderful a treat of peanut-butter and chocolate which she had always prized. After a moments second thought, she also reached for a bottled water.

But, of course, how could it have slipped her mind, there was an over hang above the patio which led to the main doors of the apartment building. Granted, her housing was at the third and top level so her egression would have to be clandestine and ever so unobtrusive. Nonetheless, this was the best she could possibly wish for, the greatest form of entertainment. After all, growing up just beside a lake, one could hardly be fearful of thunderstorms, not with their consistency. Rather, the twenty-one year old had grown exceedingly fond of them, remaining outside in their midst until the very second in which it became much too dangerous to watch them from the outdoors.

Upon that note of remembering the over hang mere floors below, she pranced towards her door, first colliding into her hazel sofa due to the mixture of giddiness and sleep deprivation fogging her mind. However, she recovered quickly enough and was all the much more awake for it, twirling the lock on her door so that she might cross to the other side, being sure to secure it once more with the keys she'd hung from her slender and exposed neck.

It was halfway through tiptoeing down the second stairwell, hail now resounding and echoing in her ears, that she silently cursed herself for not selecting a jacket or shoes in her rush. The cement of the stairs was a cold shock to her bare feet, and she could only imagine the effect the bracing wind might have on her bare skin. Boneheaded of her, imprudent, but much too late to change route and retrieve them at risk of missing the beauteous storm, as well as awakening neighbors in her midst. So mind-fogging was her happiness she had not also realized, until she reached the mailboxes, that she had fumbled the water bottle she'd grasped at the time of claiming her nutty-bar, leaving it beside her couch where she'd crumbled. She did, at least, retain her snack.

Shoving open one of the heavy double doors, her preference to the left, the brunette stumbled into the musty air, the light-headedness of her joy slowly fading at last. Enough of it did remain, however, to allow her a confident gait past the wooden chairs nailed into the patio, instead seating herself at the very edge of the cement, legs swinging over the side so that her trembling toes were just coated with the water spilling down from the over hang when stretched to their very furthest.

The parking lot was littered with puddles and worms, her mind momentarily slipping back to tenth grade biology to assure herself that she could only remember the slim creatures to be hermaphroditic and belong to the Annelida phylum. Definitely a good thing she chose to create a record store as opposed to become a biologist, then.

The rain was still driving down hard, accompanied with the occasional smattering of hail. Even the luciferous lightning and seemingly time-crashing thunder maintained a constant show, but her favorite constituent by far was much simpler than those. The howling wind, whipping across her face, leaving traces of the fish smelling mist she much enjoyed to watch it create. A simple, hazy spray, flying fast in the wind, travelling high from the tops of the puddles of which it was produced. Foggy mist, so nice to watch.

Glorious mist, an age old friend, nipping at her nose, caused her to emit a soft laugh of contentment. Her snack lay forgotten in her lap, and her eyes were crinkling shut from the force of her smile, but she always managed to keep them peeled and scanning the landscape before her. Even the dumpster seemed to gleam in the thundering droplets, clean filth indeed.

It was in that happy position that she heard approaching footsteps and was soon joined by another body in companionable silence. No door had opened, surely she was not so out of it that she could not hear the loud and resounding creak always to be released from the front door. Her only conclusion could be that the blunder was hers, that she'd been reduced to a giddy and stereotypical girl, missed and overlooked the shadows as she headed to the storm. One of those very shadows already containing a person. Another so very foolish thing, of course.

Then again, it was in the middle of a thunderstorm after all. Any person with just an ounce of common sense, of even sanity, would want to remain inside. People don't venture out in lightning, they'd always been too chicken-shit. Or, everyone from her hometown had been. Had grown up with them and could not be scared by a clap of thunder, but cowards to slip outdoors. It only made sense that, perhaps here, pusillanimous poltroons ruled the land, hiding under bed sheets upon the first lightning bolt. A theory, at least, and so apparently proven wrong.

What could she do, anyways, send him away? It wasn't exactly her land to do so. True, she lived there, but judging by his lack of proper attire as well, so did he. Besides, it was not as if this stranger was purposely bothering her, encroaching upon her space. He had been there first after all. Still, the brunette slid herself a handful of inches away from this stranger, barefoot as well and clad in what appeared to be pajama pants, solid grey to match her own camisole. That set a smirk upon her face for just a mere moment before she could wipe it away, recalling her own opinion of grey being the superior neutral, quickly becoming an over-used phrase for her, as well.

Then again, vouching for a stranger is only cursing oneself prematurely.

"Hey, I'm Mitch," he proclaimed confidently, flashing a knowing smile towards her as the wind whistled through his blonde hair.

Just as happy to ignore him, the brunette kept her eyes on the storm, which if anything, seemed only to be gaining in momentum. Mitch, however, continued to gaze at her expectantly with his mud colored eyes until she began to twitch uncomfortably, pulling her legs to rest at her side and dropping her own green eyes from the storm to watch as she began tearing open the packaging on her nutty-bar.

"You do realize you could just give your name and all the much simpler, less nerve wracking this would be," Mitch spoke again, still watching her but now more so for amusement than anything else.

"Carissa," the girl spat sharply, biting into her snack and moving even further from this new face.

"Right then, Carissa, you do realize that your retreat is not exactly stealthy, correct?"

This she chose to flat out ignore, tilting her head to view the mystery of weather once more. Strangers were most certainly not her favorite people, nor making friends her forte. She rather thought she had enough friends. Okay, so she only did actually have two, but who's to say that wasn't enough? Better two than none. Now, new people, finding common ground and hoping beyond hope they don't turn out to be stalkers or worse, that is not so easy as maintaining two friends.

"Okay, clearly this is getting me nowhere, Ice Queen of mine." Still, he tried once more, "I'm twenty-three, had my birthday last month. How's for you?"

This time his prompting was not for nothing, Carissa caving to speak in hopes he might then leave her alone since silence clearly could not drive the point, "Twenty-one."

"Really? When's your birthday, then?"

"June," she muttered, wincing at his unbidden resolve to persist.

"Not too far then, only next month. Are you excited?" He was still watching her, unnerving her as he spoke, not exactly the calming he had been hoping for.

As this tactic was obviously plunging to failure, she reverted back to her former silence, biting into the remains of her peanut-butter sweet. If she was to be stuck with him, at the very least she did not have to speak. Granted, there was a door mere paces behind her back, easily reached, but that would defeat the purpose of ever having come out, and she would not let this... Mitch do that to her.

"Alright then, I see, you're the quiet type. Or, rather the type to be quiet because--what, people are below you?"

This new analysis nearly sifted directly past Carissa's ears, just like most all the other words this stranger had spoken to her, but she caught them, and the moment she did anger sparked vibrant in her eyes. A bloody psychoanalysis, how very kind of him. "I'm sorry, but I don't recall asking for your opinion. What, did all your normal patients run out on you because you bashed them too much? Better question, do I appear so pathetic that I might take that from a stranger?"

At that point, there--finally even--the man smiled. Not large nor manic, merely a small and happy upturning of the corners of his mouth. A soft twinkle of the eyes for he had gotten a response, a true response. Not a happy one, and she certainly wasn't smiling, but a viable one, something more than a sentence fragment. "No, of course not. Never."

Slightly put off by the sincerity in his voice, Carissa merely turned back to the storm, exhaling a soft sigh of relief when, moments later, he had not spoken again. Minutes went by, eventually a completed half hour in which the storm dwindled to a mere sprinkling of rain droplets without either a word spoken until both were standing, barefoot, and walking towards the door.

"There's a thunderstorm moving in, and lightning is a form of static electricity, as was first proven by..." He trailed off, as if the words had not even passed his lips to begin with, slightly off as it was a storm had gone through already. Probably just thinking to himself, and yet the words triggered a slight laugh as they registered to be a reference to one of her favorite shows, something he could not possibly have known.

"Benjamin Franklin," Carissa spoke up, breaking into his thoughts as he blinked at her response.

"Correct." He seemed startled, surprised, in awe of her speaking to him.

"My mate Ben, that was a day and a half. I got rope burns off that kite. And then I got soaked, and then I got electrocuted," the brunette responded once more, her first full sentence, non-hateful sentence that is, crossing her arms as she completed the Doctor Who quote. Or, her bit of it, understanding that it did not have the proper interjections.

"What?" He asked, truly confused, not understanding what she had said. So then maybe she had imagined the quote, or else he was truly thinking to himself--however simple the fact had been. All the same, there was no taking back what she had said.

"Nothing, nothing at all. Perhaps we should get to bed, allons-y." She slipped back into the apartment complex, leaving a neighbor deeply confused as to why she had warmed so suddenly in her words.

A/N: I hate this story. Absolutely, positively hate. Loathe, abhor, execrate. It seems entirely underdeveloped to me. Though, that might have to do witht the fact that it was written on wide-ruled paper (gross).