In the Wake of the Storm: A Short Story

by Sicilian Sea in a place where your secrets are whispered on the breath of the wind.

A/N: I won't give my opinion on this, for I don't want my opinion to sway yours. I want to know what you would think if this was read aloud to you. It was an assignment for school.

In the Wake of the Storm

The world around you sways in a feeble wind. You’re sitting, practically hidden by the tall grass that would otherwise reach your waist. Strangely, almost childishly, you feel safe. You feel protected in your little haven, your secret room with the sky as your ever changing ceiling, and the golden strands of grass as your supporting walls. You know it is coming. What it is, you know as well. You knew when the fire danced across the sky, and alighted the world with a sea of glowing flames. You knew even as the grass waved angelically around you, spurred on by the finger tips of the wind as it rolls past. The wind flitters about your hair before fleeing, lightheartedly, across the face of the plain, denying anything that was to come. Your eyes close against the wind, enjoying the fragrance of the summer and the flaxen ripples gently moving across the land plus the scent of an encroaching power.

The power alone is unmistakable. It’s an energy that steadily builds, becoming even more present as the day continues to wane. The sun’s hold on the land is ending, striking everything in its dying effulgence.  To the east the sky is darkening considerably as you are floundering in the land-locked ocher sea. The shadow progresses toward you, slowly marching at a lackadaisical pace, but nonetheless coming all the same.

You watch it out of the corner of your eye, occasionally flickering toward the foreboding mass with interest, eventually looking away. The solid onyx entity that prowls the twilight sky starts to become more defined as it looms closer. Jagged lines of ash and sable form its features. Bruises bloom about its body, showing a rich navy blue core, contrasting with a dove grey on the edges. You watch the beast with an apperceived enthrallment. You see the sporadic flash as lightning explodes from its maw, darting toward the ground like a twisted snake.

Excitement comes to you in the form of a smile that dances on your lips and illuminates your eyes. It is here, a grotesque, powerful, tempest that quickly picks up its strength as it advances toward you and your little yellow ocean. The wind picks up as the storm did, now flattening the once rolling waves and pulling at your hair as it charges past, as if attempting to evade the giant. You hear the thunder now, a gentle, guttural, murmur that radiates throughout the area, making your smile broaden. Here is power, real power, and possibly true power.

This is something that can’t be controlled, something that can’t be broken, no matter what one attempts to do. This creature decides its own fate, and isn’t influenced by the supposed powers of the world. You continue to watch this dazzling display of strength, watching the beauty that only nature can provide. The storm rocks your little world, flattening the blades of grass, and nearly unseating you as well. But no turmoil rises within you, only the complete and utter calm that rises in the wake of a storm.