The Storm

The sun disappeared slowly behind the darkening clouds. The summer sun, no longer beaming, was gone and it was as dark as night. As slowly as the sun went away was how quickly the villagers disappeared into their homes.

The sound of the first drop of rain fell heavily with a loud thud. The silence that followed was deafening, almost as deafening as the sudden deluge that rained down from the heavens.

Harder and harder it rained, until the villagers couldn’t see more that a foot outside their hovels. Many of the thatched roofs began to leak and bow in as the rains fell. It wasn’t long before the hail followed the rain, crowding it out and fighting for dominance.

Lightning split the sky and the following thunder shook the hovels. Women and children began to cry as the men pretended to be brave. This was harder and heavier than any other storm they’d ever seen.

The air vibrated with the storm’s malice and the promise of death. The smell of the burning, singed reeds and thatching melded with the smell of rain and ice.

Now the men were crying, too. They huddled with their families and whispered empty promises of safety. They were too lost in their prayers to hear when the hail slowed and the rain stopped.

It wasn’t long before the sun made it’s return and the clouds parted. When the storm was over and the birds began to sing again, the people looked up and around and gave their thanks to mother providence.

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