Last night they were predicting golf-ball-sized hail. As I was posting a severe thunderstorm warning to the paper’s website, I saw those words “golf ball.”
All the no’s in the world. Since I have a new car, I’m terrified of those words. So, I drove to work to borrow the garage until the storm passed. I get to work with no incident. Get the garage door closed and settle in at a desk in the distribution area. Everything was going fine, I hooked up my phone’s hot spot to the computer and started working away.
Everything was fine — that is until the bay lights went off (they’re on a motion timer). Now, this building is old and creaky, and never really has bothered me too much before until last night. I was sitting there in the dark with only my computer light glowing. All the sudden every horror movie I’ve found about murders in buildings during a thunderstorm flashed through my head.
“I must get those lights back on,” I told myself.
I got up to move around and, of course, the lights do not cooperate. In the distance a light was on and I look over at what I thought was a person.
“What am I gonna do?” I thought frantically.
It’s amazing that in a split second, my mind came up with a whole scenario (which I may very well use in my next novel). I figured it could be an ex-employee who knew exactly how long the lights stayed on and was sitting there in waiting.
But, also in that split second, I saw that what I was looking at wasn’t a person at all, but an empty newspaper rack. I was almost eaten by a newspaper rack!
Ah, the side effects of having a vivid imagination and being a future novelist working on a serial killer fictional book. Writing said book: awesome. Being in my book potentially: not so much!
After that I was pretty jumpy, even after I successfully got the lights back on. But, I’m happy to report, the newspaper rack didn’t eat me. And I made it home safely.
Oh, and it never did hail.
Of course.
The Wandering Pigeon 
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