Braving the Storm

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

Rain pelted the windshield of our station wagon and the wipers carried the water away in wide flat arcs. The radio was turned way down low until it was little more than a generic hum. Dad's fingers tapped the steering wheel as if he could still hear it. Despite there being sounds: the tatatatat of rain, the rolling swish of the car on a wet road, and the mmmmmm of the radio, everything was muted. We'd reached one of those ebbs where the four of us in the same car were like a cluster of islands in a small sea of quiet. It felt like a moment just before you drop off to sleep, almost like an invitation to nap. All of us were exhausted but we couldn't sleep.

An arc of white light blazed across the eastern horizon and was gone.

"There's another one." Dad said to Mom.

She glanced back at us before whispering. "They're getting closer."

"I know."

"We're not going fast enough."

"It's all this damn rain."

"Find a place to stop, one that has a basement or a walk-in freezer. We'll hide until this wave passes."


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Comments (1 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

dang magnesium storms... :P

  • #3495 Posted 5 years ago
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  • Published 5 years ago.
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