Though I’ve never watched a tornado, I have witnesses waterspouts erupt between a storm of the sky, and the waters of the sea. So today’s Free write Friday for Kellie Elmore’s prompt (the image below), is a short piece of escapism. As usual, the link, or either of the two images will transport you to Kellie’s blog where you can take in the writing of other writers for the prompt, or explore Kellie’s own writing. Enjoy!
Blind in the darkness
There be times in this world when the sky turns dark, where colour fades from all the world around, it leaves, and we, us, are left struck still, motionless. Standing there as the tornado-wielding storm, with its cutting field of debris skipped, and danced through the fence and across the track. Her silhouette was the first thing we notice, “What!” Walking from within the heart of the tornadoes chaos, here she came, everything seeming to whirl about her, as if she were its child, born from deep within the storm. Slow, her walk towards us until within a dozen yards, to but then turn, and sit down, as if to watch her mother’s fury, or is it love, upon the land. Her black hair whistling in the storm’s winds, almost as if talking to us of what is to come, as if waiting. But waiting for what? For what seemed along time, the storm, and its tornado track a wretch of a path, twisting and turning, then stopped.
It seemed to be looking back at us, or just her, the girl with the black hair sitting a dozen yards in front of all of us. The storm, and it tight, intense whirlwind suddenly doubled in size. We all felt the static discharge of the chill, as goose bumps met our rising fear, the tornado turned on a dime with a new ferocity, while the storm discharged bolts of instant light all about us.
The girl, with her raven hair whistling to the winds’ elevated songs, slowly turns her head. Her eyes, blind, and colourless, her skin, the skin of an ancient people, that of which the storm reflected upon her face. Loud she whispered, “Don’t be afraid, come travel with us, we will show you worlds few have seen from here, with many song lines, and people of the verses. Come sit with me, for my brother is coming.”
The thirteen of us, still with fear, but calmed by her words, we moved across the dozen yards of dirt and dust upon the track. We sat down beside her, listening to the songs between her and the winds as her brother raced towards us. We do not know if the storm is her mother, or her father, but only that of her brother, the tornado. Who we are, and why we are here is not important, but each of us closed our eyes, and listened as we felt the shadows, and static in the air tower above us. The darkness, it came like a curtain, a cascading wave, then, then the verses. But that, is another story, and for now we can not speak about, though a time will come, a time to listen to her voice, the words of the song lines she keeps, the blind girl with her dark hair, which whistles to the winds…