Poetry & Creative Writing

The Storm

The Storm

Crescent Beach, Florida, 1968

The air was clear and the sky was blue. The little cottage stood beside the calm sea as the gentle waves lapped against the shore of Florida. Suddenly, the sky began to darken. The jet-black clouds quickly came in above as if they were balls rolling across the sky.

Then the torrential rain began to drench the sand and flood the dents in the road to the city. A wave as tall as an elephant smashed through the window, destroying everything in its path. The hail pelted the door forcing it down. The marks in the roof made by sheets of snow were the size of chairs. The family hid in their tornado shelter. It was supposed to be for tornados, but in this weather, it didn’t matter. The only thing they took with them was their precious radio.

This is the news at six, we are expecting calm weather in Texas, but Hurricane Abby will hit Florida’. Exclaimed the weather forecaster worryingly.

The family squatted down in the shelter. The baby in the father’s arms (the father’s name was Jack) and the sister Megan started crying loudly. “Mum. I’m bored.” winged Kevin, the son. “What do you expect!” screamed the mother, Sarah over the noise of the howling wind “It’s sheer hell up there, we can’t get your toys!” The lightning splintered a table. “But Mum!” A rock crashed through the mirror. “No buts Kevin!” The wind knocked over a vase.

It shattered into a thousand pieces. “But Mum!” Crash! An original Vincent Van Gogh painting fell to the floor. “Now look what you’ve done!” bellowed Sarah, trying to find an excuse to blame her son.

Suddenly their house gave way above them and flew away into the distance. “More like now look what you’ve done!” screamed Kevin at the very top of his voice, “I was going to warn you about how the house would blow away!”

All that was left standing above was the baby’s teddy bear, an apple, and a packet of tissues. The fruit bowl was crushed into tiny pieces and its contents had turned into a baby puree. All the children’s toys were broken into little fragments. Sarah and Megan’s dresses were torn to rustic lengths of cloth and Jack and Kevin’s shirts were reduced to clumps of wool. A chemical reaction had caused the stove to light, therefore now the stove had been destroyed and their demolished belongings above them were on fire. A window that had survived fractured making shards of glass go everywhere.

The family huddled each other as the storm raged on. They were all thinking the same thing (apart from the baby of course): ‘Farewell world, I’m going to die soon.’

Or would they?