There he stood. The havoc raging and the ferocious wind swirling. He seemed startled as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, so startled that he questioned whether time itself had stopped. His body battered by Mother Nature’s iron fists, tired & wet with his memory hazy, struggling to remember anything, to him it was all a blur when the storm crashed down. He needed answers but all he had were questions. How did this happen? Why were there no warnings? What made this storm so strong? The weather’s change for the worse was wickedly swift, merciless in the way it torn apart anything in its sight, anyone caught in the torrential rain would realise that they would be swept off their feet as the gushing water around them would take them on an unexpected trip with only God knowing when and where the trip would end.
There he stood. Destiny had been kind to some but cruel to others as the water levels rose and the devastation continued. Mother Nature was using the force but she had joined the dark side to direct debris to lick off the head-tops of any soul in sight. Death-wishes were made even thought no-one had made them. To walk away from the situation, to find safety, to find the greener pastures, to find peace were all goals he would now try to achieve. To him, he thought that eventually the devastation would end and when that time occurred that it would be the time to stop the woe, to fix the grief, to repair the sickening memories that made him wince uncontrollably, to restore the tranquility that he knew before, to be in the right frame of mind during the aftermath.
There he stood. Pondering. Thinking. His mind roaming from one place to another. Just how exactly could he or anyone else recover from such a disaster. It seemed impossible at first, the storm had literally thrown the kitchen sink at everything in its way. With no clear path to the greener pastures, one must make their own path in order to get to safety. Clearing the hurdles in the lane without falling over takes time but the sight of the finish line keeps the hunger strong, to not give up and to leap over the obstacles. The circular gust of fury made its mark on the landscape, the sight of the havoc still ingrained in his mind. As surreal as it was, time was still ticking, the cuckoo bird waiting to call at the hour, he dreamed of brighter days to forget about the darker nights.
There he stood. Rubbing his eyes, pinching his skin, slapping his face hoping that everything he had witnessed was just his imagination playing tricks with him. He suddenly thought why everything had been such a blur to him, as if he’d been unconscious in the middle of the storm. He couldn’t remember what had brought about the bad weather. Before, he thought his mind was blank but now he realised his mind had never been more clearer and his vision was crystal clear, this was no dream. The fact of the matter was that he had stood there and watched the carnage start and only realised its severity once the carnage reached its peak. It’s strange, a lot of us seem to be unaware of the storm happening around us, it’s only when the alarm bells ring that we suddenly notice the chaos ripping the present apart. Eyes only open during the aftermath, when the severity of what is happening loses its dream-like qualities.
As fiction turns into non-fiction, the trance is broken and suddenly, all you can see hurtling towards you is a cyclone ready to chew you and spit you out, it’s a rude awakening.