Ben - Chapter Six

The afternoon pressed on longingly into the evening. A rather resigned Ben, tired from his exertions, meals and cranial gymnastics, sat dazzled and frazzled as he watched a centipede tout some football tickets to a passing honeybee.

An engorged sky, drunk on water vapour and dripping with fresh young clouds, belched loudly with thunder, before callously finishing off with a fart of lightning strikes. You could almost see the smile as the flashes streamed across the sky for all to see. It was as if to breathe a sigh of relief, satisfied at giving the gift of water and thusly, life.

Ben pondered this as he refilled his silver tobacco pipe, gently clearing out the burned husks, to be replaced with fresh and tinder-dry streaks of golden brown, textured by the sun.

The toad sat upon the fine pond leaf contemplating. A snap, a string, and then a passing mosquito would become dinner. A day of life stolen as quickly as it had been born and delivered. Those bulbous eyes would be at the pit of her stomach in the moment it took for an arc of lightning to consume a tree for dinner.

The rain drops started like an attack of seagulls, much to Ben’s dismay. Matches do not mix with raindrops.