Fester's Thumb

When the residents of the small town of fester's thumb woke up that Saturday morning in late march, they could not have possibly imagined the wreckage that had been laid to their town the night before. I had left my house at seven thirty am to find that a tree had crashed into my garage, crushing my car flat like a pancake. The couple down the street, Sharon and Kamila, had lost power, and were frantically trying to find a way to save their perishable goods. The neighborhood kids were splashing in deep puddles, flooding their galoshes with muddy water, and running around helping old Mrs. Friedman save worms that had been marooned on the pavement. 

All throughout town similar damage seemed to have been done, and the worst part about it, was the ferry wasn't due back from the mainland until Monday.