I am the Storm
The whipping tendrils of wind stroked the girl’s face, dragging feathers of dirty red hair across her porcine features. The wind was not so kind to the objects that were violently lifted by the air before her. She stalled, confused, as the heavy man with the sagging features called out to god to spare them from the swirling tower of elemental force which bore down on the homestead. The tornado dropped as if it had fallen from a purse. Dark clouds gathered around it appeared raised by the sunlight which fell on all horizons around the farm.
“Delilah,” he shouted, grasping her by the waist as she flinched back from instinctively. That touch crossed the line, again. Her father leapt across it so many times, with such disdain for her virtue. A huge tear fell from her smudged green eyes. It plopped down onto dry, sandy loam beneath her bare feet, her toes twitching in the soil as if she were too afraid to move.
“Run!” her father shouted to her, pushing her towards the open dull grey metal door to the hole in the ground. “Weather the storm in the shelter.”
The girl stood her ground as he shoved, her eyes open wide with fear. The shelter was so far behind the line, so far. Whenever he took her inside it all she knew was darkness, shame and pain.
As if powered by a snapped elastic band, she lifted both palms and pushed them as hard as she could into the fatty flesh of his furry, sweat-sticky shoulders as the tornado bore down on them. It took him up, flailing feebly and dashed him against the underside of a spinning red Camero, sucking his broken form within.
“Weather the storm?” she scornfully asked with tears burning red in her eyes. “But I am the storm.”
She turned to catch the 100 story cyclone, stepping forward like mother returning to baby. It came to a rest like a penny in her palm and she closed her freckled fingers around it.
- Please excuse the quality of this very experimental work – its a first attempt at #FlashFiction taken from a prompt from Pinterest! – any feedback is gratefully received!