Lighting strikes. Thunder rolls across the plain.
The clouds quiver as it speeds past. Its roar reverberates through every corner of the heavens.
The farmers below hear the thunder and look to the sky. "I reckon a storm's comin'," they say.
The prairie beasts huddle close when they hear the thunder. To them, it is an unfathomably large, invisible, bloodthirsty wolf.
The flowers draw shut their petals, trying to hide from the sound.
The rocks rattle in place and wonder if this is the day that they will finally crumble into dust.
The thunder rips along with astonishing speed and force, causing the world below to withdraw in shock and wonder. Once it has completed its course, it rests and appreciates all it has done.
It looks back to where it originated and sees another lightning strike.
Again thunder rolls across the plain.
This time, the clouds vibrate and sing. They start to release droplets of rain. The thick atmosphere muffles the thunder's booming echoes.
The farmers below hear the thunder and look out the window. "It's good to be inside," they say.
The prairie beasts foolishly gather beneath trees. They pretend that the wolf can't see them there.
The flowers are indifferent to the noise. They are locked away in secret worlds.
The rocks rattle again but refuse to break apart. They are beginning to feel invincible.
The thunder soars again over a still-reeling planet. Once it has completed its course, it is shocked to see an earlier version of itself waiting there.
"Look at us both," it says, "Just two ... thunders?"
"That can't be right," the original one replies.
"Well, what's the plural of thunder?"
"Thun ... derings?"
"That's basically lightning."
"Cracks of thunder?"
"Now I'm just thinking of a plumbers' guild or something."
"Hmm. Thunder rolls?"
"That sounds like an appetizer at Golden Corral."
"Ooh, yeah. Oh! I've got it: thunderclaps."
"Actually, I guess that's right."
A long moment passes.
"Look at us both, just two thunderclaps in a storm."