The Storm

The storm scares me.

I hear it howling around the corner of my bedroom wall, fiercely shaking the trees from side to side. It’s so dark outside. Even the full moon hides behind the thick, black clouds. Lightning flashes in a white, ragged line, momentarily slashing the sky and horizon. I count… a thousand and one…. a thousand and two… a thousand and three… a thousand and …. the deafening crash of emboldened thunder cracks through the clouds.

4 km.

It’s probably an old wives’ tale, I didn’t investigate the claims, but it sure makes waiting for the storm more dreading, but it also tells you that the storm is passing: the counts from lightning to thunder is how far the centre of the storm is from you. Every count is 1 kilometre. And as the wind tears at the leaves of the trees, grabbing on to anything – everything - with invisible fingers that is intent on taking it all, it brings with it the eye of the storm.

Lightning. Thunder.

3 km.

The light in the hallway casts a dim, but comforting glow around the sides of my bedroom door. A window bangs shut. I must’ve missed that one. Do I get up? Or do I hope for the best? I can still hear the neighbours’ loud, irritating music thumping relentlessly to the same beat… Is it still the same song? Or do they all just really sound the same? My thoughts are interrupted by another flash of light… another crash.

2 km.

I decide to leave the window and crawl deeper into the depths of my warm, soft blanket. A gift from my grandmother when I moved into this place. When I think of my grandma, I smell cookies, cinnamon and lemon. But there is no smell tonight. Except for the smell of my own fear seething through my pores…

1km.

Suddenly it’s quiet. The monotonous beat from the neighbour is gone. Not one bird is tweeting, not one rooster crowing, not one dog barking. The trees are standing still, as the wind have pulled back and disappeared into the black sky. The ominous silence forces my head out from under the blanket. My eyes peering into my room, wanting to see something, hoping to see nothing. The curtains are lifeless, hanging from the rails. I can’t breathe.

A flash of light explodes just outside my bedroom window. And even before the light dissipates, the thunder explodes, cracking open the night sky!!

The eye.

As if it was waiting for the cue, the wind blows again. Instantly with full force, slamming my open window shut. I hear the glass shatter as it falls onto the floor. The wind is mercilessly throwing the empty window against the frame. Again. And again. And again.

I close my eyes.

And then it is over. I wait a couple of moments, holding my breath. It’s quiet. Except for the sound of dragging footsteps in the hallway. I gather my strength. And when I dare to lift my head, I can see him slumping away, blood dripping from his swinging hand onto the floor.

My blood.

The storm passed.  


Written by: Marista Grobler
Date: 2017
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