Sequel: The Stars Are Fading Away ›
Status: DO NOT READ THE SEQUEL. Please.
Weather Patterns.
hurricane.
I was in love with the weather.
It wasn’t him, it was never him. It was his weather. I reveled in the sun and the breeze and the perfect 70 degree temperature. I could never get tired of that. I wanted him to stay forever.
But, like all good things, it had to end. The clouds had to come, the rain had to pour. The lightning and storms caught me off balance; the tornados wreaked havoc on my soul. I’d never seen anything like this. I wanted my sunshine back; I couldn’t see what brought on the rains.
Was it me? Something I said, something he imagined in my face? Or was it simply a fluke–something even the best meteorologist couldn’t predict? An earthquake, a storm surge? Should I just wait it out? Or would evacuating be the better bet?
I probably should have learned from Katrina.
I could see it coming, truthfully, I just thought it couldn’t possibly be worse than anything I’d seen before. So I stayed, and I sort of prepared myself.
When the hurricane hit the coast, I felt so stupid. I didn’t have a chance in heaven against this.
The hurricane raged day and night, tiring me out, wearing me down. The sky was sky like iron, no blue or sun in sight. Nothing left of what I had loved. The clouds churned and dumped buckets of rain, and I just sat there waiting for the storm to pass.
No, actually, I didn’t sit there. Sitting was a thing of the past–small comforts hardly existed. I was being beat up, thrown about, punched, kicked, burned. My body was scarred, my muscles weak and quivering. I let the hurricane rain down, helpless to stop it. By then I was too injured to get up and limp away, to fight my way through the cloud coverage.
I thought maybe, maybe, if I stayed still enough the storm would calm, the anger subside. I thought I could make my way up until I found the sunshine–I thought it was still there, just out of sight. If only I tried hard enough, maybe it wouldn’t provoke him. I was hoping, praying for an eye. Watching so attentively for the slightest clue, a twitch of the lips or a gust not so fierce as the rest. My head turned to the sky, but to no avail. What I didn’t realize is that what I wished for would never come. No, he was too stubborn for that.
The weather is so volatile, so unpredictable. There is no pattern. You watch it and you think you can see what’s coming, but really, you don’t. There’s always the tiny wave of high pressure that spirals into a tornado, and there’s nothing you, or anyone could do to stop it.
If I had seen the storm before I let myself fall in love with the sun, I’d like to think everything would be different. But at the same time, somehow, I don’t want it to be.
My hurricane.
It wasn’t him, it was never him. It was his weather. I reveled in the sun and the breeze and the perfect 70 degree temperature. I could never get tired of that. I wanted him to stay forever.
But, like all good things, it had to end. The clouds had to come, the rain had to pour. The lightning and storms caught me off balance; the tornados wreaked havoc on my soul. I’d never seen anything like this. I wanted my sunshine back; I couldn’t see what brought on the rains.
Was it me? Something I said, something he imagined in my face? Or was it simply a fluke–something even the best meteorologist couldn’t predict? An earthquake, a storm surge? Should I just wait it out? Or would evacuating be the better bet?
I probably should have learned from Katrina.
I could see it coming, truthfully, I just thought it couldn’t possibly be worse than anything I’d seen before. So I stayed, and I sort of prepared myself.
When the hurricane hit the coast, I felt so stupid. I didn’t have a chance in heaven against this.
The hurricane raged day and night, tiring me out, wearing me down. The sky was sky like iron, no blue or sun in sight. Nothing left of what I had loved. The clouds churned and dumped buckets of rain, and I just sat there waiting for the storm to pass.
No, actually, I didn’t sit there. Sitting was a thing of the past–small comforts hardly existed. I was being beat up, thrown about, punched, kicked, burned. My body was scarred, my muscles weak and quivering. I let the hurricane rain down, helpless to stop it. By then I was too injured to get up and limp away, to fight my way through the cloud coverage.
I thought maybe, maybe, if I stayed still enough the storm would calm, the anger subside. I thought I could make my way up until I found the sunshine–I thought it was still there, just out of sight. If only I tried hard enough, maybe it wouldn’t provoke him. I was hoping, praying for an eye. Watching so attentively for the slightest clue, a twitch of the lips or a gust not so fierce as the rest. My head turned to the sky, but to no avail. What I didn’t realize is that what I wished for would never come. No, he was too stubborn for that.
The weather is so volatile, so unpredictable. There is no pattern. You watch it and you think you can see what’s coming, but really, you don’t. There’s always the tiny wave of high pressure that spirals into a tornado, and there’s nothing you, or anyone could do to stop it.
If I had seen the storm before I let myself fall in love with the sun, I’d like to think everything would be different. But at the same time, somehow, I don’t want it to be.
My hurricane.
♠ ♠ ♠
So I've been debating this for awhile, like should I post it? Shouldn't I? And I finally decided too.This is sort of inspired by the song Hurricane (The Formal Weather Pattern) by Something Corporate. I thought it was an interesting idea; relating a person to a storm. So I wrote this one night or something, and I thought it resembled the thing Amber and Wren had going on a lot, back in my first story like a million years ago. By the way, PLEASE DO NOT READ THAT. God. It's terrible, but I can't bring myself to delete it.
Anyways, here you go. Probably no one will read this. Oh well.