Jason had been caught in a terrible storm on his way back home from what was already being called ‘the party of the century’; and if there was one thing Michael Tayler really knew how to do, it was throw a party.
Jason had enjoyed numerous amorous encounters with at least half a dozen different young ladies who attended the same high school he did. He had even been brave enough to approach Sasha, the school’s resident ice queen; though she had told him where to go, how to get there, and to get there quickly.
He had drunk enough beer this night to drink Bavaria dry; yet he was surprisingly able to maintain both a vertical base, and a reasonably straight and steady course home.
He had also eaten more food than any Roman, at any orgy, in any part of the Empire, ever had done; he had even consumed two very large helpings of Michael’s sixteenth birthday cake.
There were those at the party, Michael included, who had exercised a sense of decorum and a degree of control over their more primal urges; sadly, both of these concepts were completely alien to Jason.
There was a brilliant flash of lightning, and instinctively, Jason began counting the seconds until he heard the clap of thunder to determine just how far away the strike was; but the thunder never came. Even if he had managed to count all the way up to one hundred Mississippi, that clap of thunder still would not have happened.
Instead, he was bathed in a white light, and he felt a pulling sensation; as though some great force had gently clasped him about the head with a pair of tongs and was lifting him up off the ground. First, the balls of his feet left the ground, shortly followed by the soles, until finally, only the very tippiest of his tippy-toes were left touching the ground; and that only lasted for a fraction of a second.
Jason was now airborne, being pulled towards God alone knows what; for he was far too petrified to dare look where he was headed. He’d seen the first episode of South Park often enough to know that it was “Visitors, totally”, and they were going to stick a “big metal hoop-a-joop” up his butt.
After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and looked down. He was horrified to see that cars, houses, and even trees, looked like tiny miniatures that might be used to decorate scale models. He could only just about make out the oak tree in Mrs Jessop’s back garden where he had carved “J and P for ever” one hot summer when he was thirteen, as he had thought he was so deeply in love with her daughter. Mr Anders SUV looked smaller than one of those Micro Machines that were so popular in the latter part of the twentieth century. Parkside Manor, the largest home in the whole valley by a long way, looked liked a tiny doll’s house.
He heard a low hum, and then the hairs on his arms stood to attention as he could feel static electricity rippling over his skin. He summoned all of his courage and looked up. The flash of light was blinding; painfully so.
It was then that he heard a distant voice saying, “Wake up, Jason. The surgery went really well.”
Use the following words in a story: thunder, surgery, alien, cake, and oak tree.
If you take the number of seconds between a lightning strike and the clap of thunder, and multiply it by 340, this will give you the distance to the lightning strike in metres. Alternatively, you can divide the number of seconds by 5, and this will give you the distance to the strike in miles.