On Storm Day
Every generation, the storm came. It coughed thunder to shatter bone and spat lightning to fry flesh.
On Storm Day, we hid deep as our parents taught us. On Storm Day, those who did not hide, died.
Until the man came who didn’t fear the storm. The man smiled gently and told us after today the storm would come no more.
When the storm came that day, we hid but he stood and smiled. The storm scorched the air and shook the caves. Still he stood.
Come the morning both storm and man were gone.
So was our fear.
My friend April’s story is here. It’s different. I liked it.