writing

Eye of the Storm – Part One

She sits, curled up by the window, her eyes looking out through the rain at the street lights reflecting in the puddles on the road. The warm cup of tea keeps her hands warm while the blanket on her lap protects her from the chill in the air. The rain becomes heavier as it passes over the house. Pounding sounds of fists smack against the roof.

The lights flicker and soon go out. Inside and out go dark. She sets her tea down and fumbles around trying to find a lighter and candle. Finally she lights the candle. The wick crackles against the silence inside, while the storm outside continues to rage.

Suddenly, a sound from the roof echoes down the hall. The cats hiss and runs through the room, their tails puffed out more than she’d ever seen. She tries to soothe her furry friends, but the banging moves across the roof, closer and closer. Then, it stops.

Suddenly, the rain stops as does the wind. Complete silence surrounds the home. As quickly as it stopped, it starts again. Lightning bolts fly across the sky and the windows become saturated in light, more than the brightest sun at midday. The glass panes shudder from the force and the doors push against the locks which strain to keep them closed.

She steps away to the center of the living room, fearing what may come. Never had a storm frightened her this way. She huddles up in the corner, away from potential flying glass, as the winds begin to pick up again and downed branches are thrown against her home. The cats curl up against her feet.

Suddenly, a pounding comes from the front door. A steady methodical fist beating against it. She steps away from the protection of her corner. When the lightning flashes again, she sees the outline of a person. Who would be out in this weather, this late at night? Should she answer it or stay away? More objects hit the side of the house and she hears a cry of pain. Then, she hears her name being called out and decides to open the door to let whoever it is in to get away from the storm outside.

As she opens it, he stumbles across the threshold, holding his head, blood trickling between his fingers. It takes both of them to push the door back closed, and she bolts the lock to reinforce whatever strength remains to keep it shut. As she starts to look at her visitor to figure out who it is, he slumps to the floor and the candle blows out.


Who do you think this person is?

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