Mar 09
Da Quinstah's picture

The Last Whisper

 We should’ve left when we had the chance. My friends were packing just thirty minutes after the emergency broadcast. It’s been two hours and we are one of the only people left. My mom and dad agreed that it is possible that the hurricane could miss us or die before it hits. It seems senseless, but if we were to pack up we’d have to clean everything out, taking what is most valuable and logical. If we left we wouldn’t be able to come back to the house until whoever was behind evacuation told us we could, which could be days after the hurricane passes through.
 My dad has always been stubborn when it comes to a choice not being made by him. My dad got in an argument with the mailman after he decided to bring the mail to our front door instead of put it in the mailbox. It would take a miracle for my parents to change their minds about staying here. There are only a couple of other people in the neighborhood that are making the same choice, to stay during the hurricane. I don’t know any of them really well, like I said, all of my friends left within the first hour.
 My parents boarded up the windows and doors with chairs, couches, anything that could block the entrances. It made me think of a movie, like there’s people coming for us and we need to stand our ground and make sure no one gets in or out. I was enjoying my thoughts until I heard a whistling. It was coming from outside and sounded close. Before I could ask what it might be whistling, my parents freeze and stop working on the entrances. They take a second, my dad asks my mom if she hears the whistling, she responds yes.
  My father tells me to get low and under the kitchen counter. I go and wait for my mother and father to join me. Once they do, the whistling gets louder and is accompanied by a lot of thumping and rattling. My dad looks at my mother in fear, the last time I saw fear in his eyes was when his mother was on her deathbed.
  This was serious, and by the looks of my dad, it was about to get even more serious. Everyone flinched when the walls started separating. And everything started falling apart. My dad told me to keep my head down. My mom was screaming. The sound of the wind and debris was loud enough for my mom’s scream to sound silent. The last thing I heard before we all disappeared was my dad whispering in my ear “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Da Quinstah's picture
About the Author: Da Quinstah
Author has not loved anything.