THUNDERING RAIN / fiction
MAURA LYDON
The boy’s black leather jacket smelled like rot and grease and rain when he shoved her. It shocked her every time, how thin the line was between stillness and violence. Kanta tried to catch herself before she fell, only to have her feet tangled by angry steel-toed boots. She rolled away from the first few kicks, back on her feet with the quickness of prey. But it was too late to run. It had been too late to run from the moment they’d seen her. Kanta turned to stare at the gaggle of boys, feeling her heart’s heat spread, feeling the scrapes along her palms well with blood. “You’re not a girl,” one of them said, and the words hit harder than any punch. “Just leave me alone.” Kanta backed up another few steps while the gang tried to edge around her flanks. “Freak.” The word came with another shove, and Kanta felt something hot uncurl in her chest, just short of painful. “Please, please leave me alone.” They only laughed. Kanta couldn’t tell if she was more afraid of them or the fire burning behind her ribs. “You want us to cut your hair for you, fag?” one boy hissed in her direction. Kanta felt her back hit an unfriendly wall, cold and rough. She glanced away, to see where she’d ended up, and one of them darted forward. Kanta saw his fists coming, and she let herself fall to avoid them. Instead, he hit the stone behind her, and he screamed. Fear and anger and desperation burned through her mind like fire through kindling, and as she flung herself into the midst of the pack, she felt her blood ignite. It burned her hands, red-hot and beautiful. Her flaming fist caught the second boy in the chest, and the air left his lungs with a smell like a despoiled corn crib. His shirt––a thin, elastic thing––blazed with the stink of burning plastic. He screamed soundlessly, twisting as if he could get away from the fire suddenly licking at his chest. 21
