To Catch the Lightning

Storm clouds spread out over the sea. In the darkness they merged with the water, only occasionally flickering with golden flashes. The hunter studied the sky in anticipation of the storm.

Even in his youth he had been drawn to thunderstorms – the first hunt he decided to attempt with bare hands. Along with rainwater sloshing in his boots, he carried away a lesson: you cannot catch lightning without preparation. A tree burning nearby, unable to withstand the strike, served as proof.

The hunter began to build flasks – at times they were lit by a flash for just a moment, then vanished without a trace. Lightning strikes kept missing their mark, and the glass often cracked – the hunter spent great effort remelting it, altering the design, and making sure that next time it would turn out better. After many years, sapphire glass and copper-graphite busbars gleamed in the dark – the flask was strong and reliable.

The hunter waited. Yes, this night was not meant for hunting – the sky was overcast, but there was no storm. A dry thunderstorm broke out – lightning flickered only for an instant, high in the heavens, daring to briefly illuminate the darkness but not to descend to the earth. Such lightning could not fill the flask: where a powerful one would blaze at full strength, a weak one would be lost in the gloom.

The horizon above the sea was lit by an unusual, slender bolt of lightning. Somewhere in the distance, amid waves and wind, it revealed itself and dissolved, leaving behind only a bright imprint in the darkness. The hunter smiled. Dawn was breaking. One day he would catch a lightning that would not fade into the dark. The flask, for the first time untouched by cracks, quietly returned to his backpack.