Thunder
Thunder.
That was what everything had sounded like to him that final night. It had been loud, it had been deafening, just like . . .
Thunder.
The crowd had been cheering him, the racecars were roaring by him, even as he took the checkered flag for first place. Confetti flew all over the place as he stepped out of the car and waved to his adoring and screaming fans. They had been wondrous sounds to him, something he would have cherished forever and ever . . . if they had not been the last sounds he had heard on that fateful glory night.