Young Writers Society

Yawwwn....man this is boring, I think, as I wander outside to sit on the wide verander of my house. The air is still and warm, and it feels like rain. My brother is a meterologist, and he's always arguing about the weather with my father. It goes in one ear and out the other when he mentions it to me. In fact, I'm inclined to totally ignore him. Its not like they'll ever be a cyclone or anything here.
Oh yeah...more rain. If I hadn't of been so sleepy, I might have noticed that this wasn't just any average rain storm...

Wisps of wind pull at my hair and threads of heat flit about my toes. I curl up on the rocking chair near the steps, barely hearing my father and Jeremy (my brother) argue. My foggy thoughts cannot decipher who says what, but words still reach my ears. "Storm... escape... nothing." I fight the oblivion offered to me for a moment, but the soft rain patting my cheeks is soothing. My eyes close and I ache to surrendur to sleep...

sleep...sleep...CRASH!!! I sit up with a start, how long have I been asleep? I realise I'm tied down to the veranda post, and the wind is tugging at me. My brother goes flying out of the house, sitting on a door, holding on with all his might. My father is no where to be seen. The wind roars and whines, and things are blowing up in the air

I shake my head, trying to awaken myself from this nightmare, but to no avail. A burning sensation screams up my side and I realize that this is no dream. The ropes saving me from being torn from the house are rubbing against my bare skin, a sure sign of reality. I can hear someone screaming above the roar of the wind, but my senses are still too dull to locate the source. Jeremy is gone, flying away into the lengths of grass...

I moan, and try to stay still, but I can feel my skin burning from the friction. Suddenly, the rope snaps, and I am grasped by the wind, and hurled around the post a couple of times, before getting tangled in a tree, by my hair. I scream at the pain, and my arms and legs flail....but to no avail (no ryme meant)

My eyes blur when something hits my head, freeing my mane from the entanglement of the branches. Pain leaves me. I float, peacefully, through the air, though my mind still screams a warning. I cannot make sense of it all, and I fly like a bird over the fields. . .

And then I awake with a start, gripping the dusty, grimy side of an Adirondack chair wtih my sweaty hands.

"That's the problem with these storms," says Jeremy. I can hear him talking to someone through the open window in the hall. "They can appear without warning and ravage everyone in their path. A sort of major cataclysm, if you will."

God, he sounds so old... This is the only semi-coherent thought I can muster at the moment.

"So, Mr. Worthington are you saying that the sudden, freak change in air pressure and static charge could cause one of these...cataclysms?" The other voice is thick and dark.

"Yes."

There's a pause. "Very well then. I need you to do something for me."