My sisters and I are pulling faces at one another as we sit strapped into the backseat of the car together. Rain strikes the roof violently, smashes up against the doors in waves as we skid through the great rivers that now stripe the highway.

Maybe we are playing this game because we are nervous.

Maybe we are nervous because we are locked in a tin hurtling down an unfamiliar country rain whilst thunder cracks outside. My littlest sister widens her eyes and waggles her wormy, pink tongue at me and I respond by twisting my mouth grotesquely and furrowing my brow. The sound of rain punctuates our silent game, pummels the windscreen with a rhythmic crash, crash, crash. The storm slices up the landscape with silver back slashes:

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I roll my eyes as far back into their sockets as they can go, flashing the whites. Crash, crash, slash, slash, slash...