by David Wing

Those gnarled, knotted fingers scraped at the window as the wind erupted. Lawn chairs and fences flew by, followed eventually by small cars and livestock. The final storm had been predicted and the evacuation orders sent, but there was little to no point. Whether you ran high or low, it would find you; its howl would ring in your ears, its reach far beyond your feet.

Neighbours begged you, but ultimately left you.

Watching the end gave you a satisfaction; you really didn’t achieve much in life, but you were there at the end…who would be able to say that?

About Russ Thompson

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