She couldn’t remember the last time she noticed the clouds. One day, like a magician’s trick, they disappeared – poof. She missed the metallic smell of rain and scared didn’t begin to describe what the country was feeling. The first and last words on the radio or news channels were, “The worst drought since …” Blah, blah, blah.
Shit, for that matter, all the heat made it difficult for her to remember the year. Her brain felt as fried as the landscape. Dead shrubs, grass that crumbled into sawdust under your feet, and flowers with their blooms bowed and shriveled was all that was left. A rose is a rose until it’s no more. Damn, that sounded sad.
Sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her sides. She slipped on her sunglasses, moved to the curb and raised her hand praying for a cab and the comfort of air-conditioning.
Her hair fluttered across her face in the same instant a gust of wind lifted her skirt, and a breeze tickled her sticky thighs. Wind!
The air turned nippy, and the sky darkened. Removing her sunglasses, she watched the large dark cloud moved overhead and hovered. The whole country had prayed for rain. Maybe, God had heard.
She checked for the small pocket umbrella hiding in the bottom of her bag; it wasn’t there. Why add the weight of something you don’t need to an already bulging bag? Who cares at this point, she’d love the chance to dance in the rain.
The cloud grew darker and expanded. Something about the way it swirled and danced made her shiver and nervous. The electricity in the air was palpable making the hairs on her arms stand at attention. Bouncing on her toes, she scanned the streets for her rescue. Jesus, where were the cabs?
The earth shook with a sudden roar and rumble. The sound was deafening. The wind rushed against her back, pushing her into the street. Flailing against the invisible assault, she dropped her purse and portfolio into the street. Papers flew into the air and scattered. Jesus H Christ!
She scrambled for the pages littering the landscape, grabbing what she could and running after the others as the wind lifted them skyward beyond her reach. Her ragged breath echoed in the middle of an empty street. Fear slithered down her spine like a snake. Everyone was gone. The familiar storefronts blackened as if they’d never existed.
She whirled around searching for anyone. Her heart pounded as she let the last piece of crumbled paper fall from her fist and covered her ears as the dark, angry clouds roared.
The ground shook, knocking her to her knees. She clawed at the pavement and tried to hold on as the darkness of Hell enveloped her, robbed her of oxygen and the rain of a thousand years drowned out her cries. Why me?
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It’s time to honor my fellow writers for giving us great stories to read. If you’re like me, a well-written story can stay on your mind for days. Sometimes, it motivates our creativity or nudges us to work harder on our stories.
One would think with years of education stored in my brain I would have conquered sentence structure and those damnable commas – I haven’t. If you’ve been following my blog, you may remember I wrote about this some time ago in
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