Passage

The air played with his bare skin and it blew from the ocean toward the mainland - raising goosebumps as it passed. He could taste it in the air, feel it clogging his nostrils, weighing down his clothing. A storm was coming. Over the horizon he could see the sky pulsating, dark and brooding, rolling towards him, covering the burnt orange of the setting sun. The hair on the back of his neck stood up - not because of nerves but because of the static electricity coursing through the air from the encroaching storm.

Looking over his shoulder, he wished he was back on the mainland, huddled in his house, with is family, watching and waiting for the storm to pass. He knew he had to be out here, it was his right of passage. The only thing connecting him to the rest of the world was the couple hundred feet of dock which had led him out into the ocean, to welcome the coming clouds.

Many had come before him, some succeeding in waiting out the storm - returning to the mainland a proud man. Others had wavered and ran at the first few raindrops, the first clap of thunder which shook the ground, or when the first bolt of lightning struck the ocean in front of them. He had no plan on returning home until the sun had risen, chasing the storm clouds away.

Inhaling he could taste the ozone deep in his lungs. It was close. He could hear the thunder rolling in the distance and he could just feel the little island shake with bellowing roar. The clouds were dark, stretching further than he could see - with no end in sight.

It was going to be a long night.