Cupo

Grace Mary Potts

Australia

My life is comprised of inconsistencies, daydreaming, procrastination techniques and occasionally, writing.

Message to Readers

Roll up! Roll up! Read the story with the least original title ever bequeathed to any piece of writing written in the span of human history! And... you know, tell me what you think afterwards? Maybe? - All constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.

Storm

October 22, 2015

FREE WRITING

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The tension in the car seemed to fade with the quieting of the rain, and the air became breathable again. After a while my mother eased her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and released a quiet sigh of relief. I gently patted her leg with the hand I had placed there earlier - my poor attempt at reassurance when the wind was blowing waves of water across the asphaly-covered street and blurring the windscreen with too much rain to see past. My mum had made it no secret that she was afraid of storms, or rather, of being on the road in the middle of one and unfortunately, this was a situation that we had all too often found ourselves in. The traffic began to crawl forward again, drivers finally able to see more than two feet in front if them, but cautious of the debris scattered across the road. My mother's phone rang and she reached for her Bluetooth in a motion that I knew well enough to be an automatic one. I turned away then, tugging my hand back into my lap and moving to lean against the window. As I knew I was all but alone in the car once she started talking to my stepfather, who was undoubtedly the person on the other end of the call. 

The window pane felt cool beneath the press of my forehead and I noticed with some interest, beyond the rain speckled glass, the state of the park that settled in the dip on the left side of the road. It was odd, I thought. The storm had only lasted for about fifteen minutes, yet the rain had left the courts slick and gleaming, like panels of steel rather than the worn concrete I was so used to. The grass seemed a brighter green already, still bent somewhat from the force of the downpour that had only just eased off of it. 

I bit the inside of my cheek and moved my gaze back to the steady trail of cars making their way through the traffic lights further up the road from us, as we had begun to move away from the park. A pinch of worry settled in my gut. How could one storm cause so much damage?  Fragments of trees, leaves and branches were strewn across the road ahead of us and the entire world seemed to sag under the weight of the water that still clung to its surface, even while the storm rolled its way to new horizons. Next to me I vaguely registered my mother saying something about it having been a bad day. 

A bad day indeed.
    

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