Different Storms
Today’s post is based on a writing prompt I shared in the exclusive Daily Drafters chat thread: Different Storms. Keep reading to see what I wrote, and to access more writing prompts.
What I wrote below is based on the following writing prompt that was shared in the Daily Drafters chat: Write about a storm from three different perspectives: someone seeking shelter, someone chasing the storm, and someone saying goodbye to something or someone else in it.
Hello?!
My loose, wet hair was covering my face like a mask as I ran, making it difficult to see the unfamiliar gravel path before me. No matter how hard I tried to pull back the strands, the strong wind I was running against snapped them back into place over my face.
The crunching sound my shoes were making yielded the only concrete information I currently had. I knew I was on the right path. I just didn’t know if I was headed in the right direction.
Thanks to my sister’s text, I knew I had to go to the McKenzies’ storm shelter next door.
But was I supposed to make a right or a left once I walked out our front door?
I couldn’t remember.
In the panic of searching through stacks of moving boxes to find something, anything, to wear, I lost track of some of the important details.
I had been in the shower washing my hair when the tornado sirens started blaring. At first, I was convinced I needed to brace myself for an air raid, for bombs. But when I reached for my phone on the bathroom counter, my lifeline, I saw my sister’s texts telling me what was happening and what I needed to do.
But now, here I was, far from the skyscrapers I was used to, lost in the middle of an open field, terrified, and running out of time.
The gravel path had ended, and when the wild winds whipped my hair to the side for a few beats, all I saw was the open plain before me.
No trees. No houses. No tractors. No Mckenzies. There wasn’t a single person, animal, structure, or object in sight. Except for the large, growing tornado hovering in the air, heading straight toward me.
I screamed into the wind, hoping someone would hear me, in time to save me.
“Hello?!”
Hello?
My phone vibrated on the side table, slowly waking me from a hazy daydream, which involved chickens in giant fedora hats and cows in tiny red rain boots in the middle of a meadow, or was it a prairie? I could never tell the difference. But there were bees buzzing around too. Or was that the phone?
I lazily reached for my phone without opening my eyes to stop its incessant buzzing, knocking over a water cup in the process. It was empty, thank god, but the hollow clattering noise it made when it fell woke me up to at least seventy percent, enough to erase the farm animals wearing disproportionate accessories from my mind.
Before I registered who was calling, I registered the time.
6:37 AM
It was less than two hours after I had gotten home from pulling an all-nighter chasing the promise of a storm that had never materialized, on film anyway.
“Hello?” I groaned.
“Georgia! We got a live one in Dixie. For real this time. A career-maker. See you at the van in five!”
And just like that, I was on my feet and out the door again. The thrill of the chase was the only stimulant I’d ever need. There was no time for coffee or sleep when mother nature never tired.
Goodbye
His breath smelled faintly of onions and blue cheese when he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek for the last time, which only endeared me to him more, as it was evidence of the last salad he’d ever make for me. Maybe that sounds stupid to you, but only if you’ve never been in love before— the intimate, gross kind.
We were standing in the foyer of his childhood home saying goodbye as his parents and soon-to-be wife played Sorry! in the next room over. The same foyer we had been standing in on the first day we met. Oh, the dramatic irony! The completely foreseeable tragedy of it all! That this would be where and how it ended, I did actually see coming. And in the middle of a heavy rainstorm no less. So poetically inappropriate.
His kiss was punctuated by a lightning strike that illuminated the skinny windows on either side of the front door, followed by another, then sheets of rain, making it impossible to speak, because whatever was said would be drowned out, and whatever was not said was already too loud.
I leaned in for one more embrace as the weather raged outside, matching the synchronized tempo in our chests. I didn’t want to leave, but it was time to go, for good this time. The clamor of the storm had already stolen all our words and memories in one fell swoop.
I might revise, edit, or add to this draft in the future. Stay tuned!
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© This work is not available for artificial intelligence (AI) training. All Rights Reserved by K.E. Creighton; Creighton’s Compositions LLC. The above work is a piece of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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