Jan 09
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The Last Hurricane

“Mommy, I’m scared.” a tiny voice whispered. A few families sat huddled underground. The world was being torn above their heads and only the oldest members knew what was happening. The youngest sat huddled on laps, clutching family pets. Fish swam lazily in their bowl on a small wooden table in the corner. No one wanted to explain to the children that when they were finally allowed back upstairs, their homes might not be there.

“I know, baby. Here, come read this.” the last part was directed to the oldest boy, sitting in the farthest corner of the damp basement. He climbed to his feet and lifted the small child off the mother’s lap. She carried a soft blanket in her chubby arms and her thumb was wet with her saliva.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, her voice echoing in the small room.

“Shh.” he said, placing her on of the cots stationed in another room. The setup was pretty genius, with a few doors leading off into various extra rooms. A small bathroom was to the left of the stairs and two small bedrooms branched off from the main room. The family had always been prepared as their small town was prone to hurricanes and other natural disasters. They had many bins of canned goods and toilet paper, the bins covered in a thin layer of dust. The few windows that the basement had were boarded up and the wood was soggy and rotting. Sirens wailed above their heads and they could hear rain hitting the roof.

“Mom. When can we go home?” one little boy wailed. Another followed, until the basement was a chorus of screaming and crying children and many of the older kids started groaning and grumbling.

“Shut up!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”


“Enough.” One of the mom’s said. The basement quieted and she climbed wearily to her feet, a small child on her hip. “Things will be fine. Go lay together and try to sleep.” She put the child down and wiped the tears off his cheeks. He sniffled and then, carrying a fat orange tabby cat, made his way into one of the rooms. The other children trickled in as well until only the adults and oldest children sat in the main room.

“We should tell them.” One father said. The others shook their heads in disagreement.

“They're to young.”

“Don’t worry them”

The wind picked up above their heads and the ceiling groaned. A look of knowing was passed around the room. A small trickle of water made its way under the door, the drip-drip loud in the mostly quiet room. The door to the basement strained against the weight of the storm and collectively, the adults climbed to their feet. They had come to an agreement and everybody assumed they wouldn’t survive this storm. The world would be leveled if they ever made it back out again. They shut the door to the small room and waited for the inevitable.
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