THUNDER ROLLS

Featuring lyrics from Garth Brooks' "The Thunder Rolls."

The sun glints on the water as it begins to set. Four feet pad softly and quickly over the packed dirt road. A man and a woman move swiftly away from a beach, the woman carrying a bloody bundle on her back. They both stare blankly ahead, as if they knew not where they were going.

The ocean glitters in the fading light, and the waves slosh gently onto the sand. The wind breathes softly on the peaceful setting, twisting in the woman's long silky hair.

She bites her lip, willing herself to stay calm; yet inside she rages and weeps at the serenity of it all. How the world can go on as if nothing has happened, as if nothing is changed, belittling her loss. As if life is still gentle and soft, peaceful and serene.

Unimportant in the grand scheme of things is the death of her firstborn. For just a moment hurt flashes in her dull eyes, but it is gone almost as quickly as it arrives.

Her husband beside her glances over at her, and she realizes that they have come to a halt. Her gaze drifts down to

the ground in front of them. While she has brooded they have arrived in an open area with tall stalks of arid grass mixed in with the baked sand.

She glances at the small mound of turned soil and the tiny hole before her. She doesn't understand; doesn't want to understand. The man beckons to her and she hesitantly moves forward. She watches his eyes, and they flick to the small parcel she carries. Tears fill her eyes as she slowly shakes her head.

"Juana." The man states simply. "We cannot hold on forever."

Juana's body goes slack as reality strikes her. Somewhere in the back of her mind something will not accept the death of her son. Trembling with exhaustion, anxiety, and strain, she reaches spiritlessly for her bundle, settling it tenderly in the tiny grave. The air is damp, and the wind gusts as darkness begins to cover them.

Three-thirty in the morning
Not a soul in sight

The man brushes the lump of parched earth over the tiny form. He moves to stand beside Juana, their eyes sharing a dead, hollow quality. Encouraged, the wind tugs at their clothes and hair, rippling the long dry grass and sweeping the sand. The sky is darkening now, hooded by clouds. Thunder rumbles in the distance like an angry premonition. The man still gazes at the diminutive sepulchre in the desert.

The city's looking like a ghost town
On a moonless summer night

"Kino, we must leave." Juana says softly.

Kino nods, and pulls his blanket tighter over his shoulders. Juana covers her head with her worn shawl. As they scurry down the dirt path twisting and winding out of La Paz, rain begins to fall.

Raindrops on the windshield
There's a storm moving in
He's heading back from somewhere
That he never should have been

A streak of lightning crashes down in a blinding branch of fire. Another boom of thunder, and there is silence. In seconds, there is a crackling as fire spreads along the low bush, burning and scorching. Two dark figures flee down the road at full speed.

And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls...