You couldn’t quite call it dark, because it wasn’t. It was a dull yellow day, a wet day. A windy day. Water fell from the sky like the tears of a young girls first heart break. The winds danced around the trees and houses, taunting them with every last gust. Would you come tumbling down now? No not now, maybe the next gust around. Windows shattered, cars zoom by. The hot muggy day quickly turned to a cool wet breeze. The sirens speeding up everybody’s heart beat. The flashes of lightning lit up the sky, the rolls of thunder pierced the cry. What a marvelous disaster, still beautiful but distrustful none the less. A mouth that runs dry cries out for a drop of rain, but they dare not run out into the storm. Shelter, shelter. Everyone is called to shelter. But the homeless, those without homes, where do they go? Where do they hide from this beautiful disaster?
-Natalie A. Chapman