The Storm

The wind blows and rushes through the maple leaves on a toasty spring evening. The thunder rolls through the sky and the drops begin to descend. The rain feels cool on my skin- almost too cold- as I dash home from my friend’s house. And then, I stop. I stop because I see something that bothers me.

Something just isn’t right about this scene. It’s quiet; too quiet. The rain begins to fall harder but I can’t tear my eyes from the street before me. So, so quiet. The thunder rolls and the lightning strikes. The sky lights up like fire; like explosions.

I should be dashing to the warmth and comfort of my home. I should be curled up with a book in the living room at this very moment. But I’m frozen still.

Something is wrong with this picture but I don’t know what it is. And then it hits me. There’s something missing. There’s no one around. The calm before the storm is here. There’s no one to hear me scream.

The lightning strikes a tree- crack- and my vision blurs and fades to black.

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