We ought to record the thunderclap at 4.16 this afternoon.
I was alone at home, peacefully reading. The windows were open, the fan on. Because of the holiday, there was much less white noise than usual.
It grew a little dim and, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw some dark flickers in the sky, but it was nothing to pay attention to. It wasn't raining.
Suddenly, there was a tremendous, deafening, terrifying, universal crack.
A mythical giant in the sky had slammed a wooden board against an iron block, and the gods of Babylon and Egypt, Greece and Rome, India and China, had echoed the sound a million-fold.
I stood up, my heart jittering. I put my hands at the sides of my face, waiting. I thought it was thunder. But had Daya Bay exploded? Was my building going to fall down? I waited. The earth and sky did not change. There was no lightning. It started drizzling, that's all. And the world was still here.