Blind in the darkness

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!

Kellie Elmore, Free write Friday prompt

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…

kellie Elmore, Free write Friday

13 responses to “Blind in the darkness

    • Thanks, Sky.. It came as a feeling of mystery within watching the girl with the tornado, and the storm. Who is she, how did she get there, and why sitting, facing the chaos? The rest was a gamble, and a chance to find some escape reasoning before, during, and after the next few moments. I need to catch up and read yours, and the other writers later tonight, or some in the morning.

  1. OMG! This is sweet, wonderfully packed with vivid imagery. I bow at the poetic flow of words here too. But there is this one part that gave me the chills too. Here: We all felt the static discharge of the chill…I love how you described the girl and her mother being the tornado as if she was waiting. Then the way you described her skin–of an ancient people. Sean, I salute. I don’t mind doing it again.

    • Thanks, Uzoma… Yes, wild storms always have a chill about them, and a lot of static charge in the air to me, even though I love their nature, but not their catastrophic tendencies as a result.

      As I kept writing, I could not make up my mind what relationship the girl had with the storm , and the tornado, I kept pondering. In the end the tornado turned out to be her protective brother, and the storm itself a possible mother or father. It was an experience in writing about the unknown as an escape.

      Thanks on the description of the girl character. I often find myself leaving it up to the reader to become self indulgent as to the physical aspects of a character, let the audience colour, and shape the characters in their own minds. It is kind of like writing in an exploratory nature with just the generic aspects in physical presence for each different character. If you read other Free Write Friday writing I’ve done, you’ll find it more often than not as being something I make use of in each story. Not sure if it makes for good writing, but I like write with characters that don’t have all the dots joined up, or are fully coloured in with no room for the read to connect.

      Thanks again for reading the little short above, cheers!

  2. I like it. Lovely descriptive story and capturing of the mood. I would never have thought to write about the image. … And thanks for visiting my FWF submission at “Reflections.” Be well, Dorothy 🙂

    • Thanks, Christy… I kind of used the term tornado a little too much, it kind of got stuck in my head. In the tropics this far south, we just don’t get them. Thanks again for reading!

  3. Your writing casts a spell and I am swept up in the storm imagery. The daughter of the storm with her raven black hair and sightless eyes is an image I will not forget in a hurry. Beautifully haunting writing.

    • Thanks, Suzanne… This one can be attributed in part to a bit of a family emergency on the weekend, with a young nephew almost drowning in a faraway land, and for a period after. All is good with them now though. Thanks again for reading, and finding time to offer a few words on how you found the piece.

  4. Pingback: Short stories update | Sean Bidd·

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