A year has passed since we began the Write the Story! project.
Writers Unite! started this project to assist all of us to gain followers to our blogs, websites, and author pages and to gain experience as writers. We didn’t do this for accolades or critique but for enjoyment and to share our work with others. As we close out the first year of WTS!, I thank all writers who have participated and all who have read and supported the authors. The admins appreciate the positive support you have given the authors.
For the last prompt of 2019, we decided a simple image would be appropriate and perhaps, a bit difficult. Enjoy!
See you in 2020 for Year Two of Write the Story!
The December 2019 Prompt!
Here’s the plan:
Based on the image provided, write a story of 3000 words or less (doesn’t matter, can be 50 words or a poem) and post it on the author site that you want to promote. Please edit these stories. We will do minor editing but if the story is not written well WU! reserves the right to reject publishing it.
Send the story and link to the site via Messenger to Deborah Ratliff. Put “Write the Story” in the first line of the message. WU! will post your story on our blog and share across our platforms, FB, Twitter, Instagram, etc. We do ask that you share the link to your WU! Write the Story! post so that your followers can also read the works of your fellow writers. The idea is to generate increased traffic for all. It may take some time but it will happen if you participate. The other perk of this exercise is that you will also have a blog publishing credit for your work. The November prompt is below… write the story!
Periodically throughout the month, we will post the current prompt as a reminder. DO NOT post your story to this prompt. The idea is to have your STORY or poem published on your site, the WU! blog and shared to gain followers for your writing. We will not accept a one- or two-line caption. For the most part, we are fiction writers and poets…. please write a story or poem, not a caption. If you have any questions regarding this, you may ask the question in the comments. Thank you.
(Please note: the images we will use as prompts are free-use images)
Award-Winning Author, Bobby Nash, from the area of Atlanta, Georgia, called in to discuss his terrific books, his works in progress, his writing schedule, and his website.
Bobby Nash writes novels, comic books, short stories, novellas, graphic novels, and the occasional screenplay for a variety of publishers. Bobby is a member of the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers and International Thriller Writers.
He was named Best Author in the 2013 Pulp Ark Awards. Rick Ruby, a character co-created by Bobby and author Sean Taylor also snagged a Pulp Ark Award for Best New Pulp Character of 2013. Bobby has also been nominated for the 2014 New Pulp Awards and Pulp Factory Awards for his work. Bobby’s novel, Alexandra Holzer’s Ghost Gal: The Wild Hunt won a Paranormal Literary Award in the 2015 Paranormal Awards. The Bobby Nash penned episode of Starship Farragut “Conspiracy of Innocence” won the Silver Award in the 2015 DC Film Festival. Bobby’s story in The Ruby Files Vol. 2 “Takedown” was named Best Short Story in the 2018 Pulp Factory Awards, one of five nominations for The Ruby Files Vol. 2 (created by Bobby Nash and Sean Taylor). Bobby’s digest novel, Snow Drive was nominated for Best Novel in the 2018 Pulp Factory Awards.
Between writing deadlines, Bobby is an occasional actor and extra in movies and television, including appearances in Deviant Pictures’ Camp Massacre (formerly known as Fat Chance), FOX’s The Following, USA’s Satisfaction, AMC’s Halt and Catch Fire, IFC’s Brockmire, DC’s Doom Patrol, and more.
You can learn more about Bobby Nash, contact him, and order
his books through his website at:
Award-Winning Author, Bobby Nash, from the area of Atlanta,
Georgia, called in to discuss his terrific books, his works in progress, his
writing schedule, and his website.
He was named Best Author in the 2013 Pulp Ark Awards. Rick Ruby, a character
co-created by Bobby and author Sean Taylor also snagged a Pulp Ark Award for
Best New Pulp Character of 2013. Bobby has also been nominated for the 2014 New
Pulp Awards and Pulp Factory Awards for his work. Bobby’s novel, Alexandra
Holzer’s Ghost Gal: The Wild Hunt won a Paranormal Literary Award in the 2015
Paranormal Awards. The Bobby Nash penned episode of Starship Farragut
“Conspiracy of Innocence” won the Silver Award in the 2015 DC Film
Festival. Bobby’s story in The Ruby Files Vol. 2 “Takedown” was
named Best Short Story in the 2018 Pulp Factory Awards, one of five
nominations for The Ruby Files Vol. 2 (created by Bobby Nash and Sean Taylor).
Bobby’s digest novel, Snow Drive was nominated for Best Novel in the 2018
Pulp Factory Awards.
Between writing deadlines, Bobby is an occasional actor and extra in movies and
television, including appearances in Deviant Pictures’ Camp Massacre (formerly
known as Fat Chance), FOX’s The Following, USA’s Satisfaction, AMC’s Halt and
Catch Fire, IFC’s Brockmire, DC’s Doom Patrol, and more.
You can learn more about Bobby Nash, contact him, and order his books through his website at: http://bobbynash.com
Host Paul Reeves
A product of the Detroit area, Wayne State University, and Eastern Michigan University, Paul Reeves, Ed.D, has spent over 30 years as a professional educator and musician, as well as his work as a radio talk show host and author.
IMPACT RADIO USA provides the best in news, talk, sports, and music 24 hours a day, 52 weeks per year. Launched in the spring of 2017, their goal is to keep you as the most informed Internet Radio audience. Click on the link below for the station’s complete show lineup!
Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!
The Hurricane
By Calliope Njo
I had to go because the hurricane came sooner than predicted. With winds expected to reach one hundred miles an hour or higher, there was no other option but to leave. My parents lived inland so my intention was to go far away from the storm.
I couldn’t go through because the roads were closed. Dammit. While I may have been overreacting, I would die if I stuck around. I didn’t know what to do.
All the shelters filled. No one had any room. One hotel about half a mile inland stayed open to act as a shelter but they filled up quickly.
I screamed, but no one heard. Out of options, I got in a boat and took it out to sea to offer myself as a sacrifice. Crazy, stupid, and every other description possible for that action, but I ran out of choices.
The last thing I recalled was a huge wave hung over me. I shut my eyes to ready myself for the crash. “God, please take me home.” I remember the surge of water as it crashed on me. That moment went beyond explanation. No words described it.
After a while, I opened my eyes and felt sand beneath me. Sand Dunes Inn in front of me with the only gas station in town next to it. The ice cream shop on the other side of the Inn. Busy during the summer months as tourists loved to go there for their freshly-made ice cream.
I witnessed and experienced the hurricane and remembered that helpless feeling not being able to leave, but yet, all was as it should be. How?
I stood up and pulled a blond hair from my head. It hurt. OK, that meant I didn’t die, so what happened?
Everything looked the same. Old Man Marty, who owned the ice cream shop, swept the entry. The Petersons stood in front of the office door to the Inn and waved. Three or four boys wheeled on the path in front of me.
Did I dream the entire goings on?
Well, I got in my Beetle and drove to Mom and Dad’s house. Mom always had an ear to the gossip circle and Dad had a knack for knowing stuff.
I loved the trip. The fields of green were something to behold during the late spring and early summer months. Always an enjoyable sight.
I knew I was getting closer when those fields ended, the roadways got bigger, and McDonald’s became more visible. Sure enough, Dad’s Lincoln was parked in the driveway. My yellow Volkswagen Beetle sat next to his.
I readied myself for the ongoing argument over the necessity of a car alarm. My car wasn’t big enough to have a car alarm, he always said. It’s my car, and it’s my money. His only reply would be at that point there was nothing in it worth stealing.
I walked inside. Mom stood over the sink cleaning green beans while Dad watched a game on TV.
Dad turned it off and looked at me. “Did you hear anything about a hurricane coming through? Sources told me it died as soon as it formed. Strange phenomenon, they said. They have no record of it happening before. Of course, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t, only they don’t know if it ever has.”
“Marge told me her daughter was going to California to get married,” Mom said. “It seems the earthquakes there don’t scare her any.”
I still waited for that argument that never happened. I didn’t know what to reply with and went into the kitchen to help cook the food. Mom did the meatloaf while I did the vegetables.
Conversation never took place at the dinner table during mealtime. When everything finished, it did. “Oh, by the way,” Mom said, “what are your plans for July Fourth? How about a barbecue with potato salad and a special dessert?”
“Sure.” What’s up with the invite? She never did that before. “Why not?” I looked at my watch. “Oh. I better get going before traffic picks up.”
Dad rose from the table the same time I did. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, daughter?”
I studied him before I turned around and left. Mom of course laughed.
As soon as we walked out the front door, he said, “So, you got the alarm on that insect of yours?”
I raised that eyebrow. “It’s a car. It’s mine. Yes, I did buy an alarm for it and had it installed.” I made it beep.
“So I will see you in my office to discuss retirement investments, since it seems that you have extra money to spend.”
A different argument this time. I groaned.
“Do not take that attitude with me, young lady. I demand respect.” His hands clutched at his sides.
Uh huh. Yeah. “I’m going now, Dad.” I got in my car and drove away.
Mom made plans of some sort and Dad changed character. Something had to have happened. I did not imagine that huge wave over me. I did not dream about those palm trees bending over. Mom and Dad are different. Nothing made sense to me.
Someone moved into the apartment next to me. Tall with dark hair and I got enough of a glance at her facial features to be able to tell a woman moved in. A strong woman at that. She carried five boxes all by herself.
Strange that she wore a scarf around her neck. Nobody here wore one. It never fit in with the beach scene. To each their own.
Between work and spending time at the beach, we never got together. I assumed we had different schedules. I taught at the elementary school, so I left by six-thirty and got home around five.
With it being the summer though, meetings, inventory, and paperwork were the only items on the summer calendar. It never made sense to me but that’s how things went.
The lady next door never introduced herself. I tried but when I was there, she wasn’t and vice versa. Eh, at some point we were going to. She did move in next to me after all.
I couldn’t forget the hurricane. No damage and no loss in population as if nothing happened. Dad mentioned scientists had no explanation for it. Here one minute, gone the next. Maybe it bothered me more than it should have.
I tried to forget about it and went to my parents’ barbecue feast. After I stuffed myself, I followed Mom into the kitchen to help with the dishes. Of course, she asked if I dated anyone. It seems she might be the only one without a grandchild.
I heard the game on TV. I also heard him snoring. Typical Dad. Of course, if I dared to turn off the TV, he’d yell at me and tell me he knew what happened. Maybe he had an off day.
Dad still snored when I took off, so maybe he had an off day. Mom gave me a cake trimmed with strawberries and blueberries to resemble the flag.
I thought I could share with my neighbor.
I got home and put the cake in the fridge. I didn’t have any room in my stomach so if I ate any more, it wouldn’t be pretty. I sat on my chair and turned on the TV. There had to be a movie on.
I found a Lord of the Rings movie I saw before, but I didn’t care. After the opening credits, someone knocked on my door. I answered it and it was the lady from next door.
“I had noticed you looking at me. You overlanders are a curious bunch. I am Aberdeen and I am here to live. If you are in need, come to my door and knock. I will be there. There is plenty to be done so I will not go away soon. Enjoy your night.” She walked away.
I stayed there and saw her leave, too amazed to do or ask anything. You overlanders are an interesting bunch? I pictured myself waking up next to Dad in the next minute. I closed my door and went back to Frodo.
The only problem I had from that point on was that I couldn’t get involved in Frodo’s adventure. Aberdeen stayed on my mind. Soft spoken, a little formal, and maybe a bit odd. It made me wonder if I somehow ended up in Mom’s Twilight Zone. She loved that series.
Toward the end of summer, kids and teens swarmed the beach to get in the last bit of fun before school started. Some of them had scarves around their neck too. They wouldn’t be caught wearing scarves. It meant looking old.
I knew a few as I had their younger siblings in my class. “Hey, Shawnee.” I waved her over. “So what gives?”
“Oh, hi, Ms. Richards. We’re just out here swimming and digging for clams before the work begins. The rest surfed.” She shook her head as she scrunched her face. “Can’t wait to be done with school.”
OK. Nothing new there.
“And the Oceaners wanted to come and join us. They knew where the best clams were. They helped us collect them so we could have a feast.”
“You? Eat clams?”
“I know. Huh.” She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Can I leave now?” She bounced up and down.
I nodded. I stayed put and watched them. One of them with a scarf around their neck took it off. They had gills.
“Exactly what kind of world did I end up in? This isn’t my world.”
One with gills ran over to me. “It will be OK. The elders said it would take time to adjust.” She ran away and into the water.
What elders? How did she know I said that? Fins grew and gills became more prominent on a few of them. Did I end up in another world? I had to find answers. The only person I knew with them would be the people at the town’s historical society. They loved to talk to anyone who had any questions about Ocean Port.
I found it, parked my car, and went inside. Wall-to-wall bookshelves filled with books. I didn’t think even a hair could get in between.
While I loved reading, it would take me until the day I died to get through all of them. A lady at the front desk looked at me as I scanned the place. She waved me over.
As soon as I sat down she started telling me about my little town. The part about the original inhabitants I knew. The part about being observed by strange beings I didn’t. They wouldn’t have been able to survive without them. They became the town’s secret since then. Nobody outside of Ocean Port knew about them, it seemed. That’s how they existed for so long without discovery.
I got lost somewhere after that. That little piece of information threw me off. I couldn’t understand how it is that I never before realized they never existed. Still, that little piece of information brought a little more interest into my search for answers.
After I came home, my stomach growled. I looked in my fridge and saw that cake. Well, no time like the present. I took it out and balanced it on my way out the door. I knocked, and she opened the door with a smile.
“I’m Brenda. I have a cake here that my mom made. It’s decorated with strawberries and blueberries to resemble the flag. We could share.” I held it out.
She smiled as I walked in and nodded on her way to the kitchen. She brought back plates, forks, and a knife. “You have been asking questions.”
How did she know? “Yeah.”
“You have more.”
“Yeah.”
“Or you would not be here with a peace offering. You still do not know how it is you came to be here in a world you believe is your own. Some things are not making sense, however, so you came here hoping to find more answers.”
“How …”
“I had a hunch that would happen. That storm formed a bridge between your world and this. You entered the storm and went through the portal. While that may sound simple, a lot of consideration came with that decision. However, the alternative to that choice meant certain demise. You were held in suspended animation until the decision had been made five years later.”
None of that made any sense. “Aberdeen, I’m a teacher. I like to believe in things that can be proven by books, internet information, or an expert. So no, I don’t believe in anything based on faith.”
“We had a feeling that would come up as an issue.” She stood from her chair and walked down the hallway. She returned with a book in her hand. “This book may have the rest of the answers you are in search of.” She put it on the table and pushed it toward me.
That Oxford dictionary-sized book did look old. Faded cover, worn edges, and that old-book smell. I opened it out of curiosity and flipped through the pages. I stopped when I saw my name at the top of the page. It had everything about me on it.
“What exactly is this? Destiny is made, not decided.”
She looked at me and leaned over the table. “I would rather us discuss than debate, as there are many arguments to that statement. As for what you see, this lexicon is forever changing, being forever rewritten until the time of death. Then, and only then, will it continue to the next person. So no, nothing has been decided for you.”
I pushed away Mom’s cake. I couldn’t eat because my head kept spinning. Nothing made any sense. I hit the table and left her place. I slammed my door shut and dropped on my bed. I only wanted to know what happened.
I must’ve fallen asleep. My face felt smooshed when I looked up. I sat up and decided to forget about my quest for answers. Instead, go on with life. Forget about making sense of them. I worked as an elementary school teacher, single, and lived an unadventurous life. How it is and how it should be.
Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!
The Boat
By D. A. Ratliff
“Boys, come help me.”
Olivia Carter raised the hatch on her SUV and began to collect the bags of groceries from the back. Her sons, Micah and Elias, popped out of the kitchen door into the garage. Eli lowered the garage door to block the driving rain spilling out of the first strong feeder band from Hurricane Anna.
Grabbing the bags from her, Micah grinned. “Geez, Mom, did you leave any food for anyone else?”
“No one else has kids like you two that eat so much. Luckily, the store still had lots of food and water left.”
He nodded. “I guess since the storm is only going to pass by just off the coast, no one panicked except us.”
“Funny boy. It’s the beginning of hurricane season, might as well stock up now.”
She and Eli followed Micah into the kitchen with the other bags. As she put the food into the storage bins to keep it dry, the boys brought in the water she had bought.
“Mom, there’s enough food and water here for the neighborhood.” Eli grimaced as he and his brother carried two cases of water each into the kitchen. “There are eight more cases out there.”
“That’s the idea. Your dad knows a lot of people don’t realize how long power could be off. He wants to be sure we can help them. Even the fire station might need water.”
Micah ripped open a box of granola bars and took a couple out. “We got all the shutters closed, and all the outside stuff in the shed, and the grill is on the lanai. Drained a few feet of water from the pool and shut off the pump. The generators are full of gas, and we moved them out on the pad with the covers still on, and the cords are ready. Dad called while you were gone. Said it looks like the storm is staying offshore, but he wants Eli and me to go check on the boat.”
“Did he say when the main feeder bands were going to get here?”
“Not until about four p.m. when the winds began to kick up.” He yelled for Eli. “So we’re going to go now.”
“That is only three hours. You come right back.”
“We will.” Eli pointed to the back yard. “Pete’s outside on the lanai, thought he’d like to stay out as long as he can.” Both boys kissed her on the cheek and took off.
She wanted all the clothes in the house clean in case they lost power and had just put the last load of clothes in the dryer when Micah called. “Mom, Jose at the dock asked us to help him. He’s got a boat stranded about a half-mile offshore, and he needs it towed in. Won’t take us long and then we’ll be straight home.”
“Micah, I really wish you would come straight home.”
“Mom, it’s okay. There’s a family on board, engine died. They’ve been out there for a while. Just a quick trip out and back.”
Unease crept into her thoughts, but she pushed it aside. Her sons were smart, and they had been boating since they were small. They could handle themselves.
Olivia busied herself getting the last of the laundry folded, then reviewed the checklist her husband had made for them when they moved to the Gulf Coast of Florida from Buffalo. She always teased him about being a Boy Scout, but he had been a firefighter for so long that preparation was second nature to him. She and the boys had managed to accomplish everything they needed to do to prepare. She took the clean clothes and towels they might need and put them into a large plastic storage bin. If water came into the house, they would at least have dry clothes and clean towels.
She decided to bake oatmeal raisin cookies for the boys, all three of them. Entering the kitchen, she flipped on the TV before heading to the pantry. As she opened the door, one of the local weather forecaster’s words stopped her cold.
“We just received an emergency update from the National Hurricane Center. Aircraft flying through the storm report that the pressure is dropping more rapidly than expected. In fact, faster than we have ever seen. The storm was a low Cat 1 on the last fly-through. While the Hurricane Center hasn’t released the numbers yet, it appears this storm has strengthened to a possible strong Cat 3. Steering winds are changing and folks, this is beginning to look bad.”
The news anchor for the station responded. “We are expecting a message from the governor within a few minutes. Everyone, we suspect that this hurricane is going to come closer to shore and be at least a Cat 3. We cannot emphasize enough that this is now a highly dangerous storm that will impact us more than we expected. Please make your preparations now and get to a shelter if possible or to your home as quickly as you can.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when her phone rang. It was Dan, her husband.
“Baby, this storm is getting worse. I want you and the boys to stay put, too late to go to a shelter so …”
“Dan, stop. The boys … they’re out on the boat.”
“What? What are they doing on the water? They were supposed to check the moorings and come straight home. I told them not to stay there.”
“A family was stranded about a half-mile from the dock. They were the only ones with a boat able to get to them. Micah said they’d be home as soon as they got the family onshore.” Her voice trembled. “Dan …”
Her husband’s calm voice echoed in her ears. “Liv, they’ll be fine. Both are level-headed, they won’t take any chances.” He paused, and she knew he was trying to stay composed. “This storm is going out of control. I am going to notify the Coast Guard to look for the boat. I am sure they are back at the dock by now.” She heard someone yell his name. “I’ve got to go. Keep listening to the weather, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Don’t worry about the boys. They’ll be okay.”
Dan ended the call and tears spilled down her cheeks. She knew him too well. He was worried. So was she.
The howling wind was becoming stronger, the rain pelting against the metal hurricane shutters. She hurried to the lanai to let Pete inside, then pulled the metal shutters across the wide sliding glass door, secured them and locked the doors. The golden retriever brushed against her as if he knew she was upset. Olivia knelt and hugged Pete. “They’re going to be okay, Pete. I promise.”
She needed to keep busy. The boys would want cookies when they got home. Returning to the kitchen she started the cookie batter, the TV on and the laptop monitor tuned to the security camera on the front door. She wanted to know the minute when the boys arrived.
The storm predictions were becoming ominous. The pressure was dropping and the winds increasing. A storm which was supposed to be passing them by with a glancing blow was becoming a serious threat. Olivia packed the cookies into a plastic container and put it with the other food and cleaned up the kitchen. Coffee in hand, she and Pete curled up on the couch to watch the weather reports.
The storm had stalled just south of them, gaining strength. The weather experts at the Hurricane Center had no idea what was going to happen next. Her mother and Dan’s father called to check on them. The storm’s erratic behavior had everyone on edge. She tried to call Dan at the city emergency center, but the call went to voice mail.
Pete snuggled closer to her and whimpered. She scratched his head and sighed. “We’ll be okay. All of us.”
As rain once again plummeted the house, Olivia jumped when her phone rang. She answered without looking. “Micah? Eli?”
“No, baby, sorry.” The pain in her husband’s voice ripped through her heart.
“Dan, no …”
“I don’t know anything. The Coast Guard tried to locate them, but they couldn’t keep the helos in the air. The storm is far too strong. We know the boys. They’re smart. They would have seen how the weather was deteriorating and headed for shelter.”
“I’m scared.”
“I am too, but let’s have faith in them. Now listen, we received a warning from the hurricane center that the storm may turn toward shore. It’s stalled right now and continues to gain strength. If it hits here, you are six blocks inland and shouldn’t get caught in the storm surge if we have one. I need you to stay calm. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Baby, I love you.”
She gripped the phone so hard her hand began to cramp. “I love you. Stay safe there.”
“I will. And the boys … I feel it in my soul. They’re okay.”
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed five times, and her heart fluttered. Her sons had been gone since one p.m. with no word. As the minutes ticked away, she stared mindlessly at the TV barely comprehending what the cable weather team was saying. She switched the TV to the local station, which was broadcasting from the city emergency center, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dan. His job during a storm emergency was to coordinate damage reports and plan deployment of all fire rescue teams so they could begin search-and-recovery operations once the storm passed. When the emergency weather broadcast alert blared from the set, she and Pete jumped. Her heart thumping in her chest, she wrapped her arms around the dog as she listened.
The National Hurricane Center has issued a hurricane warning for the southwest coast of Florida. As of five forty-seven pm, Hurricane Anna is now a Category-3 storm with sustained winds of 121 mph and pressure at 956 millibars. Storm is eight miles offshore, moving rapidly at 12 mph and beginning to track to the east-northeast and is expected to turn due east and reach landfall somewhere between Siesta Key and Venice around eight pm this evening.
Her blood turned to ice as the emergency broadcast ended. All she could think of was her sons somewhere in the middle of a hurricane. Dan had to be right, the boys had to be safe. Micah and Eli had learned to drive a boat by spending a lot of time on Lake Erie with Dan and his father. That they knew what to do wasn’t a concern. The power of the storm was, and she was scared.
For the next hour, she sat curled on the couch with Pete watching the endless loop of radar as the storm began to turn. Rain beat against the metal hurricane shutters covering all the windows and doors of the house, incessant drumming sounding the same pinging thud. Wind gusts were stronger with each feeder band that came through.
The intense rain let up for a bit, but the wind was relentless. The howling wind was becoming more persistent. Sitting inside her closed-up house, she could sense the barometric pressure dropping, or was it the fear growing within her that weighed so heavily on her chest. She didn’t fear the storm but what her sons were facing. She prayed Dan was right and they had found shelter.
As the torrential rain returned, another weather alert sounded. The storm had turned due east. They were going to take a direct hit. Seconds after the alert ended, the power went off. Using her phone’s flashlight to light the way, she grabbed her laptop from the couch.
“Come on, Pete. Time to go hide.”
When they bought the house, Dan was more excited about the large interior walk-in closet nestled at the end of the hallway than any other feature. He thought it was perfect as a place to keep his family safe. She opened the door and turned on the camping lantern sitting on a shelf. The floor was padded with cot mattresses and pillows, the boxes of food and clothes to get them through the storm stacked in the corner. An audible sob spilled from her, and she sank to her knees. Her sons were supposed to be there, and they weren’t. The closet was too empty.
Pete pawed at her arm, and she rubbed the dog’s head. “No worries, big guy, I will keep you safe.”
She closed and locked the door and opened the vent in the ceiling that Dan had installed to keep fresh air circulating in the closet. Settling on the floor, back against a pillow and Pete snuggled beside her, they began to wait.
A constant stream of storm updates floated from the battery radio but as the eye of the hurricane grew near, the wind was howling so loudly Olivia could barely hear the voices. A constant roar filled the room, coupled with the torrential rains pounding against the house. The bad side of the storm with the winds at their peak was wreaking havoc. The house creaked and moaned as it withstood the wrath of Anna.
Olivia felt as though she was being compressed. Pressure was building in her sinuses, and she felt dizzy. Pete whimpered. No doubt he was feeling the same effects that she was. She slid down to lay next to him, wrapping her arms around him. The emotions she had tried to keep in check couldn’t be contained. Sobs racked her body as the pain of not knowing where Micah and Eli were overwhelmed her.
The boat. That damn boat. Dan had spent months looking for a seaworthy boat that they could afford. He knew how much the boys loved being on the water, but he had wanted them to be safe. Her heart felt like lead, each heartbeat a struggle. They shouldn’t have bought the boat. Now her sons were missing, and it was their fault. She pounded the floor with her fist, crying uncontrollably. They shouldn’t have bought the boat.
Sensing her fear, Pete pushed against her, placing his head on her lap. She hugged him tightly. “They have to be okay, Pete. They have to be.”
The storm raged for another hour violently. Over the roar of the wind and rain, occasionally she heard a loud crack, certain one of the tall palms in the neighborhood had fallen. She wondered if Eli’s car, parked as close to the house was damaged. Throughout the night, the winds calmed, and about three am she fell asleep.
A scratching noise woke her. Pete was standing at the door, looking back at her. She glanced at her phone, a little after six am. Should be light outside.
She stood up and scratched Pete behind the ears. “Bet you need to go out … I will let you in the garage if there is one.”
Walking through the house, she decided to see if she could call Dan since she had a couple of bars. Despite being frightened about what she might learn if she talked to him, she needed to hear his voice.
His phone rang, and as he answered, Pete ran toward the front door. “Liv, you okay?”
“I’m fine … the boys?”
“Open the door, I’m outside.”
Her hands trembled as she unlocked the door. When she opened it she stepped back seeing Dan in the doorway, a huge grin on his face. “You know these two, baby?”
He stepped out of the way and her knees buckled as Micah and Eli entered the house.
Eli grabbed her. “Mom, we were worried about you.”
Through tears, she replied. “Worried about me? I was so scared for you guys.”
Micah hugged her. “Yeah, Mom, we hated leaving you here alone. Glad you are okay.”
“I am glad you are okay. What happened? Where were you?”
Her oldest son smiled. “Winds and the waves were getting rough. That family was on vacation, had rented the boat for the morning. Eli checked the motor … no oil, so the engine seized. We tried to tie a rope to it, but the waves were too high. So, we got the family aboard and left that piece of junk there. But the waves were getting wicked and the rain and wind horrible. Got the family in the cabin and since we were up the coast a bit, we decided to head directly to shore.”
Eli interrupted. “When we got to the shore, I realized where we were. Remember where I was a lifeguard last summer?” Olivia nodded, and Eli continued. “The county has a main water pump station there, a big one. I’d been in it when the water company dudes were there working. Sturdy concrete building — door facing away from the water. I figured we’d be safe there. Lucky for us, the door wasn’t locked. When the storm let up, Micah left and found a police officer. She said they were looking for us and took us to Dad and the family to their hotel.”
Micah laughed. “For once, little brother was right. And Mom, the boat … we drove it up on shore and tied it to some palms. Came through like a trooper and in all that weather, she got us to safety.
Looking toward her husband, she saw tears in his eyes, mimicking hers. Their boys were safe. Not a bad boat after all.
Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!
Anthem of Man’s Dying Day
By Sarah Anne Steckel
The divine and otherworldly being hovered far up above the bustling seaside metropolitan city, completely unseen to the human eye, as he watched the ant-sized men and women as they scurried to and fro in their menial daily lives. His obsidian wings gently flapped to call forth the twilight and blanket the sky, causing the city lights to rage and burn like fire against its radiant darkness. Clutched firmly in between his hands was a leather-bound tomb, and in his free hand was a quill pen with a single vulture feather; for he wasn’t an ordinary ethereal man but an angel of death, and it was his job to write down the death of man.
Off in the distance there was the low rumbling of thunder, and from his high vantage point he was able to witness the turbulent storm as it rolled in across the eerily calm ocean front. The ocean air grew thick and heavy, as waves that only grew larger and larger began to crash angrily against the somber sandy beach. The maleficent gray clouds masked by the darkness of the night, plump and heavy with rain, opened up their mouths and spewed hail and flooding rain on the civilians down below. Chaos erupted within the streets as individual blocks of power began to experience mass power outages at a single time.
The omnipotent being began writing on the pages of his book, his keen and wary eye on the tsunami that had formed in the center of the ocean, its epic size continuing to rapidly grow as it traveled further inland. The sounds of sirens caused his attention to shift to the humans below him as they screamed and wailed, their city streets already flooding with a mixture of rainwater and sewage. What remained of the city lights flickered and died, leaving the metropolitan metropolis lifeless and dark; the city went eerily silent, the literal calm before the storm.
The tidal wave arched high above the tallest building, casting a shade even in the darkness of night across the entire island. The celestial man gracefully flapped his wings a second time, pausing briefly in his writings to watch the exact moment that the water crested over and descended down on the silent city. A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky with its bright, electrifying blue-hued brilliance, capturing the wave as it struck the tallest skyscraper, the water’s weight toppling the iron-rod building as if it were made of straw.
The humans below screamed and bellowed as the water swallowed entire buildings and blocks whole, dragging them along with their occupants helplessly into the hungry sea. Whatever had remained after the first wave was quickly demolished by the second tidal wave that bludgeoned the already welted and deliberated streets; there was less of a human rebuttal now, their cries and pleas only a murmur in his ear. He made a few more scores in his epic tomb, listening as the rumbling of thunder began to roll north.
The archangelic man smoothly flapped his obsidian wings a final time and closed his book; observing how the once lively and bustling city and all of its scurrying and busy creatures quickly perished. He could feel their restless souls as they still continued to cry on, unwilling to accept the truth that they all had died. He felt no remorse for them, this was a job that he was sent to do, and dutifully he obliged. In silence he placed his vulture quill pen behind his ear and took flight. Just like he arrived, Azrael, the angel of Death, departed the human world unnoticed but sure that he would be called back once again to dutifully record the anthem of man’s dying day.
Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!
Any Port in a Storm
By Kenneth Lawson
Two more palm trees came crashing down on the beach as the computer finished final preparations for automatic shutdown. The automated weather station had triggered a shutdown when the rains and winds had hit certain marks.
The solar panels and a small wind turbine, that generated power that ran the inverters and batteries that ran the station, began to shake on their foundations as the winds and rains picked up.
Meanwhile, deep inside the stone and concrete building, an automated computer had been monitoring communications on the tiny island of Leetown, a private island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The waves began to crash against the outside of the building. Within minutes the tiny island was covered in twenty feet of water which crashed over and through everything. While most of the smaller less well-built buildings lay flat in a matter of minutes, the old stone-and-block building didn’t completely submit to the water. It remained standing.
However, the ancient mortar-and-cement casing did partially give way to the intense weight and pressure of the water as it swept across the small island. Water found its way into every little nook and cranny that had an opening at all, forcing blocks and stones to shift and let in more water. When it was done, three feet of water made itself home throughout the tiny building. Computers and electronics were waterlogged and fried.
Several weeks later, Cole Webber made his way back to the tiny island.
In the weeks following the storm, he had made a financial killing off the data siphoned off the internet and private networks he had been tapping into for several months. The cost to set up the substation had been high. But the need for secrecy was higher. This particular island had been chosen because of its location to the main backbone of the internet running under the ocean and to the nearest land-based server center—thus allowing him direct access to the main trunk traffic of the internet and the ability to piggyback on others who were spying on the internet. Also because it was so far out in the middle of nowhere, it would never occur to them that anyone would set up a hardware system to tap into the servers.
The usefulness of the substation was now past. He had what he needed from it, and with the storm destroying everything, he thought it was time to come in and rip everything out.
As he expected, the island was a total washout. By now most of the water had subsided and found its way back to the ocean. However, there were still pockets where several feet of water sat and the bugs were making themselves at home.
The solar panels and inverters and all of the external hardware that had run the small computer station were in ruins outside the building.
Pushing the door open, he was greeted with water up to his knees. The water came gushing out of the door around his legs. Using his flashlight he looked around inside the small building.
There on the far wall, mounted high, was a single monitor, its cords dangling against the wall. To his surprise, a single light was flashing. The screen had a small blinking oblong dot in the upper left corner. Cole recognized it instantly as a DOS prompt.
Stepping into the room, now covered with slime and mud, he saw computer components lying all over the tables and floor. He approached the one screen still working.
Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!
Boxer Briefs
By Enzo Stephens
Everyone knew a real crap-storm was imminent, but the real question in the mind of Greedy O’Shamlin was when.
Because when mattered to Greedy.
Greedy played the odds, always, and since he was a perpetual betting man, he was betting that the raw unbridled fury of nature would take its sweet time making landfall, thereby screwing up all sorts of stuff with limitless tons of dirty water. Whether the water fell from the sky or washed up from the sea, well, it was still dirty, and Greedy really had no affinity for dirty water.
But still …
Because while Greedy loved playing against the Fates, he hated filth more. It’s why he lived alone and it’s why he was quite happy living alone. Simply put, people were filthy.
And so Greedy reveled in the steaming pellets of clean water that pummeled his skin, and yet, a tiny niggle of doubt squirmed around in the reptilian part of his calculating brain.
That doubt had a little but persistent voice that kept repeating stuff like, ‘you need to get outta here, dumb-ass,’ and ‘it’s a freaking Category-5 hurricane, dumb-ass.’
Greedy decided to respond to that small, annoying seed of doubt by lathering his long, blond hair in a wonderful, enriching, lavender shampoo. Tea-tree oils evoked a tingle on his scalp that was quite pleasant.
Alas, the hot-water tank had reached its limit and the streaming shower began to grow tepid in temperature, and so Greedy rinsed his tresses until they squeaked between his pressing fingers.
He tapped the shower control to OFF, slid the opaque glass door open soundlessly, and stepped onto heated marble flooring, eschewing a bath sheet in favor of air drying, and waited for the fog to clear from the vanity mirrors on two walls of his custom bathroom. He really hit a hard workout earlier in the morning with great focus on his triceps, shoulders and quads, and he wanted to see the fruits of his labor.
In the interim, Greedy decided to brush his teeth for the fourth time on this day—a bit excessive, but filth had a way of hanging on stubbornly between one’s teeth. It was when he shut down his sonic toothbrush that he heard a very jarring noise from the exterior of his home, one that certainly warranted further investigation.
He pulled a pair of boxer-briefs from a hook over the door, stepped first his right foot through and—
The jarring noise again! Sounded like parts were being ripped off the house itself, and there was some kind of outrageous roaring going on out there, and right at that second Greedy felt that it was time to stop playing the odds and maybe expedite matters to the point of a rapidly-ensuing personal evacuation.
The grubby cat can fend for itself.
He hoisted that left knee up to jam his left foot through the briefs and the big toe somehow got stuck and then Greedy wobbled, losing his balance, and he reached his hand out to halt his fall but missed the granite vanity completely and saw the unyielding vanity surface rushing up toward his view and then…
Blackness.
Wake up already!
“Huh?” Greedy opened his eyes with the memory of what he saw last vivid in his brain, and he completely expected to be in a hospital or something, or at the least, lying sprawled out on his bathroom floor, thankful for the warm tiled floor.
But that’s not what Greedy saw, not at all. What greeted Greedy’s view was … gray. Like everything was gray. He looked around—absently noting that he had full movement of his neck, which meant that his neck was not broken, and saw gray.
No floor, no ground, no walls, no outside or inside, no ceiling, no sun. Nothing. Just gray. What the—
So, you were doing something pretty stupid there.
“What? Who’s talking?”
Allow me to answer your question with a question. Do you know your name?
“What kind of stupid question is that? Am I paralyzed or something?”
Or something. Now, your name please.
“It’s Greedy O’Sh … wait a minute; hold on a sec.”
Take your time, I’ve got all the time you can imagine.
“Something’s off. I remember my name being ‘Greedy,’ but I remember something else too, something … older?”
Now you’re getting there. Keep working at it.
“Why the fu—”
Don’t allow yourself to get distracted by your circumstance. Your name? WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
“Okay, okay, don’t get your panties all in a bunch—”
When you figure out WHO you are, you’ll realize just how inappropriate that comment is, Child.
And yes, there! Just a tiny little thread right at the edge of Greedy’s memory, an old thing that he didn’t really understand (like quantum physics or women), but he found that little niggling thing and latched onto it tenaciously.
“It’s Jrgshddl.” He shook his head, or at least it felt like he shook his head. “Did I just say that?”
Welcome home, Jrgshddl.
“Wait. Am I … dead?”
Your physical shell is lifeless and will be returned to the earth by fire.
“Oh shi … er, crap! So what is this … place, and who the heck are you?”
You already know the answers to those questions, Jrgshddl.
“Are you … God?”
You know I am.
Greedy/Jrgshddl’s mind reeled. He struggled to absorb and understand everything that happened and that was now happening, but … so many questions! “Okay, God. So what is this place and what’s the plan for me now?”
You should remember that this is just a holding place for you. It’s a place for you to rest and reflect and to understand your place and remember your progression.
“So, like Purgatory.”
You would do well to not ascribe your silly Catholic rituals and fantasies to me, Child.
“Well, I’ve just had my pee-pee slapped by God Himself.”
You no longer have a pee-pee. In fact, you no longer have a physical body.
“I was being figurative, not literal.”
Yes, Jrgshddl, you’ve been like that since I gave you your first spark of life.
“So, um, God? Do you mind if I take some time here to try to get my head wrapped around all this?”
Listen to me now, Child. Your physical shell is gone. Dead. Reduced to ash. You have to let go and do so as soon as you can. Once you let go of your physical trappings, you’ll trigger the ancient memories you’re supposed to trigger, and then we can move on to the next phase for you.
Without a physical environment, Greedy was at a bit of a loss as to what exactly he should do. Pace? That seemed to work for him when he was … alive. Sit down? On what, and where? There’s nothing—
That’s correct, Jrgshddl, there’s nothing. I designed this place like that to make it easier to let go.
“Well you certainly did a fine job.” No response. As Jrgshddl attempted to look around and be confronted by nothingness, he tried to push, or project his mind out from himself and into the nothingness.
Why not? There was nothing else to do. But the odd thing—as if any of this wasn’t odd anyway, was that as Jrgshddl tried to expand his consciousness, the memories of his life as Greedy O’Shamlin seemed to flit away. This was a gradual thing and it continued until Jrgshddl’s mind was soothed and integrated with the surroundings, the surroundings of nothingness.
Jrgshddl?
“Yes, God.”
That’s much better, Jrgshddl. Now we can talk.
“I’m all ears, God.”
I always did enjoy your humor, Child. But now we must be serious. In your life as Greedy O’Shamlin, well, you left a bit to be desired.
“In my defense, nobody’s perfect. Well, nobody, except for you and Jesus.”
Child, there is no need to defend. I know all and I see all. I knew what was in your heart from its first throb until you rejoined me here. I’ve known it for ages, Jrgshddl, and I will know it when you finally pass to the next stage in your evolution.
“Which is what?”
Which is not for you to know yet. But I will say that I gave you an illustration of what’s next for Mankind in my Word, which you call the Bible.
“Riddles! Why not just come out and give up the deets?”
Because you are not yet ready and you have to return.
“Well, I don’t see the problem because I won’t remember all this anyway.”
No, Child, that’s not accurate at all. Allowing a slight bit of remembrance is what helps Mankind to elevate themselves to their next phase. So yes, you will remember just a bit more than last time, and you’ll be that much closer.
“This seems like a colossal time-suck to me. I mean, why all the back and forth, why all the life and then death? Why not just bump us up to that next stage without all this … stuff?”
Jrgshddl, in the world of the living, there is a metal that you pull from the earth. It is beautiful and pure and clean, and Mankind treasures it. It is called ‘silver.’
“Okay, sure. I’ve had some silver.”
Do you think it comes from the earth shiny and beautiful? It does not. To create the beautiful metal, the impurities have to be removed from the ore. That is done through fire, which is called ‘refiner’s fire.’
“Okay, so I’m not really getting all this yet—”
Truly refining that metal takes more than one pass through the refiner’s fire, Child. You, and all of Mankind, are like that ore that’s pulled from the earth—full of wonderful potential and beauty as well as impurities.
“So going back and forth like this will remove impurities?”
Absolutely. So if this ‘pass’ cleanses you of all your impurities, no further refining will be needed and you can move on.
God’s thoughts echoed in Jrgshddl’s mind with the impact of a gong on a distant mountain just as a blast of shockingly cold seawater engulfed him and he sank below the surface of an extremely angry sea.
He kicked his legs and feet frantically and finally broke free of the riotous surf and opened his eyes in shock and then wonder. A raging deluge of rain hammered the ocean, which protested by heaving gigantic surges and surf back at the sky, which responded with insanely powerful winds and jagged bolts of lightning.
And Jrgshddl was right in the middle of it.
He kicked himself in a circle, feeling like a microbe against the heaving vastness of the seas, amazed that he was able to keep his head above water, and spied a red lifeboat with lights flashing fore and aft, bouncing around on surf determined to crush the small craft.
It was durable though—built to withstand a hurricane! He struck out toward the boat, no more than one hundred feet from it and closing in, when he heard voices.
He looked toward the boat, seeing the door ajar; long hair whipping around, and a familiar face etched with frantic worry screaming his name, and he longed to go to her.
“Come on, Jordon, COME ON!”
Jordon?
He knifed through the pounding storm surge, fighting crisscrossing undercurrents that strove to yank him under as exhaustion began stealing over him and then …
Small hands snagged the collar of his shirt and pulled him toward the craft and he pushed and clawed and climbed to be free of the angry hands of the sea until he fell forward on top of the woman who held him violently, clinging with every ounce of desperate strength.
He gasped, shaking saltwater from his mouth that was causing his belly to rumble. “You saved me. You saved my life.”
She kissed him. Deeply with frantic passion. “No way was I letting you go, Jordy. It wasn’t your time, my love.”
Together the two kicked the hatch door shut and held each other as the Category-5 storm raged.
Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!
Things We Left
By Erin Crocker
The toe boxes of Ellony Pickett’s scuffed Mary Janes kicked against one of the table’s wooden legs.
“Stop it!” Doris turned from the pile of dishes in the kitchen sink.
A reporter on TV shouted over the hurricane. “…evacuate last week. Residents of Eastern Florida—” A sudden whoosh of static drowned out the station.
When the channel cleared, Ellony kicked her feet harder to keep up with the bouts of wind. Her eyes widened when she noticed the trunk of a palm bending. Another whoosh interrupted the report.
Tap. Tap.
“Child, I said to stop.”
For the first time in hours, Ellony’s green eyes diverted to the woman with an unlit cigarette hanging between her thin lips, struggling to talk. “Stop what?” the little girl asked.
Doris flicked the spark wheel on her cheap BIC. “You know,” she mumbled.
“I don’t,” Ellony whined.
Swish. “…And reports are just in that the wind…” Swish. Swish. “…The count is down—” Swish. “And we’re expecting that…” Swish.
“Dammit, Charlie!” Doris called down the empty hallway. “Charlie!”
Ellony turned back to the TV and rested her chin on her knuckles before batting her eyes and holding them for a few seconds. She swung her legs, and her toes resumed the tap, tap, tap of kicking into the table’s leg.
“I asked you to stop!” Doris turned and creased her forehead.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Charlie, if you don’t get your ass in here—”
Tap.
“I’m comin’, woman.” The overweight man shuffled down the hall and pulled his jeans over the roll on his stomach. “What the hell you want?”
Ellony grimaced at the curly chest hair that lay in thick patches over his a-line undershirt.
“Get outside and fix the antenna.” Doris nodded to Ellony. “Little shit’s driving me crazy enough kicking those shoes into the cabinet. Now I gotta deal with static. Program’s about to come on and I ain’t going to miss it today. Get out there and fix the thing.”
Charlie turned the corner of his mouth up and shook his head as he shifted his tone to mimic Doris’. “Get out there and fix the thing.” He threw his shoulders back. “Woman, all I do ’round here is fix shit. Day’s Saturday. I ain’t doin’ shit.”
Doris threw her hands on her hips. “To hell you ain’t! Get out there and fix the damn antenna.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“And, woah. Did you get that?” The reporter motioned to a stuffed animal that whizzed by his head and disappeared among the rain and debris. “Did you see that?”
Whoosh.
“I said fix the damn thing!” Doris took another drag and sat the remainder of the cigarette in a saucer.
The sound of her mom slamming the cabinet door shut was little Ellony’s cue to exit. After the last confrontation, when the girl had stepped in front of Charlie who was stumbling toward her mother, hand balled into a fist, vying to strike Doris a third time and inflicting the punch on Ellony instead, she’d learned to stay away.
In the safety of her bedroom, she wrapped her seven-year-old arms around Isha and hugged the stuffed rabbit as though the ratty toy possessed the ability to protect her. Her thoughts turned back to the storm on the television; the beach looked nothing like all the beaches she’d seen in the adverts. To her little eyes, it looked like the reporter was standing in the middle of a nightmare. She hugged Isha tighter. It’s a shame some kid lost their stuffy.
Swish, Swish, Ellony used the remainder of baby fat that hadn’t yet left her cheeks to expand the air in her mouth into a sound she thought resembled the angry wind. Swish, Swish, Swish.
The storm became louder. Dishes whirled and flung against walls. Louder, a scream sounded from somewhere in the house. Darkness tiptoed into her room that, seconds ago, the sun had lit. Loose twigs tapped like bony fingers against her window.
Here’s my chance, the girl told herself before grabbing Isha and sneaking out the screen door. Once outside in the wind, she placed her fist in front of her mouth. “This is Ellony Pickett with channel nine weather. And this,” she nodded to Isha, “is my assistant. The winds are going really fast. Can you all hear that?” She turned her fist to the trees and looked to the hazy, green Midwestern sky.
***
“…Reports say it was an F-5 that tore through the Midwest yesterday evening—” Nevaeh turned in time to see the picture at the side of the screen showing the arm of a small child reaching for the floppy ear of a stuffed rabbit; debris and what Nevaeh thought to be wooden planks covered the rest of the child’s body.
The woman made a quick job of turning the television off. “What on earth do they show on TV anymore. I—”
“Mommy!” Terrell turned his focus from the TV to his mom’s worried expression.
“Finish your milk, baby. We gotta get going.” She rushed around, throwing a few more items into a duffel bag while she spoke. “…Pick up Daddy, and then we gotta beat the traffic.” Nevaeh paused and tossed her Havana twists behind her back. “Finished, little man?”
“Yeah.” Terrell held his empty glass up and his smile grew when he did. “Mommy, what’s an eff eye?”
“An ‘eff eye’?” Nevaeh turned and the TV caught her attention. She remembered the photos of the ravaged town … and the small child. “Okay, an F-5. It’s a tornado, a very bad storm.” She knew she didn’t have time to explain more. A horn from outside honked and a few shouts caught her attention. “Come on, baby. We have to leave … now.”
Terrell jumped from his seat and ran to Nevaeh who put a hand around his shoulder and tried to comfort her boy with a reassuring look and a quick hug. He pulled back. “Jo-Jo…”
Nevaeh’s heart fell through her stomach at the realization she’d forgotten the stuffed lamb. She knew they didn’t have time. The firefighters weren’t going to magically stop the wildfires, and traffic was getting worse. “Sweetie, we just can’t—”
“Jo-Jo smells like Pops.” He blinked those sweet brown eyes Nevaeh couldn’t tell him no.
“Stay right here.” She hurried to the stairs. “Don’t move. Mommy is going to find him, I promise.”
Her feet thudded up the staircase and she rushed to Terrell’s room. Nevaeh opened the door and her eyes scanned the boxes of toys that remained in bins in his closet. She bent and surveyed under his bed. Terrell was right; Pops, Nevaeh’s dad, had given Jo-Jo to Terrell days before the older man passed away. She had to find him. That’s right, she thought, Terrell crawled in bed with us … early this morning. She flew to her room and tossed the blankets around.
From outside, desperate honks sounded. She peeked out her bedroom window to see cars lined up at the four-way stop that served as the exit to her family’s subdivision. How much time did they have? Days? Hours? Minutes?
“Shit, Jo-Jo,” she whispered.
***
Terrell’s eyes gleamed when he saw his mommy run back downstairs carrying a tote.
“Okay, baby. I found him,” she said. “Now, we have to go. It’s going to be okay.”
Terrell wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, why they had to leave everything behind, but he was certain of three things; he had his mommy, his daddy, and somewhere in Mommy’s bag, was Jo-Jo, and Jo-Jo smelled like Pops.
The little boy smiled.
Terrell sat in silence and allowed Nevaeh to buckle him in his car seat.
***
A snapshot of Terrell and Pops fell from a burned box in the attic as hungry flames licked the siding of 105 Oceanview Drive. The photo landed next to Jo-Jo whose palm extended outward as though he lay, faithfully waiting for Terrell’s tiny hands to pull him to safety.
The lamb, who Terrell had left under the guestroom bed during a game of hide-and-seek stared at the bottom of the mattress with unknowing glass eyes as the frame of the house collapsed and the fire consumed his tiny plush body.
Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!
“Lost To The Storm”
By D. L. Tillery
A single moment, a breath of life, I couldn’t blink, I couldn’t cry. Tingling all over, no sounds of wonder, I’m blinded by you and this inner thunder. Waves clash against me, inside me, as I fight the fall, as I fight your call. The day you emerged before me, was the day I lost my heart to thee. My soul ignites with the lightest touch, unknown to you, I fold as a palm tree under bended knee. What is this? What are we? Let me surrender, or let me flee.
The storm has come, just as the light fades, the winds rage … touch me, I beg. When you arrived I was lost at sea, the stings of water droplets awakened me. Take not away this unknown storm, uprooting, are we not the norm?
Your beauty has penetrated to the deepest core, hold my hand as we soar. Where we land is one and the same, in the center of our storm we’re lost … come what may.
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