Stagnant air necessitated the stir of teamed fans. Life in the minimised phase began with blankets kicked to feet. Her body sheathed only in the barest covering, Cammy sought comfort through heat shed rather than retained.
Out of sight and mind, the restless sky embraced mischief. Old air with the consistency of soup acted absent the reveal of daylight. It stoked updrafts in anonymity and formed highways of lifted moisture. In the races heavenward, friction ensued. Even intra-cloud, different wishes existed.
Not yet ready for its march, the burgeoning cloud bided time and worked out. Narcissistic and gluttonous, it engorged on the uninvolved and uninterested. It huffed out its chest into an impressive if unseen column capped by an anvil.
Impressed with itself at last, it moved eastward.
The first discharges of sky-born natural capacitors the sleeping Cammy noticed not, nor the sudden scramble of air, some of it lost to cloud, some on a hurry away. Curtains fluttered and danced, their performance enhanced by inner fans.
A delayed rumble reached the sleeper. She found strange comfort in its low roll to dissipation. The next carried emphasis, more still in the follow. The transition of air she welcomed. It soothed and massaged aggrieved skin.
Outside, flash and boom improved harmony, its show and soundwall coordinated and performed with feeling.
A torrential pelting thrummed rhythm to the freeform of thunder. The no longer sleeping bedrider slid across its surface with reluctance, loathed to act, but compelled by practical consideration, for the window admitted rain what splattered sill, floor, and dresser. Hands pulled. A whip of light snapped two hundred feet from eyes accustomed to enveloping darkness. A floor slip, a backwards fall, a head and shoulder struck and bruised.
She woke on hardwood, shivered awake by the change of air.