Week 11 EC: Microfiction

It Was Always Windy Here:

My house backed up to a field where the wind would gather speed. By the time it reached our yard it would topple our trashcans and scatter them down the street. Sometimes we would lean forward into the gusts and feel the air push our tiny bodies upright again. One time the sky turned green and then black. The sirens moaned as a train rattled over our house. I clutched my little brother in the dark of our closet. He was shaking and the walls were shaking, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed wide open. Maybe I thought I could see it coming. 

When Grandma Lived Next-Door:

After the tornado passed, we scampered down the street to check on you. Your porch lay crumpled in the ditch -  its metal supports twisted at unnatural angels, like the body of a giant spider. But you were fine. You hid in your closet with a helmet on. You had survived much worse. As a girl, you walked to school in New Jersey, through a concrete jungle with blood on the sidewalks. As a woman, you lived in a real jungle. You slept under thick nets and kept a machete close. Now you're still just as brave. Now you live next-door. 

Tornado

Author's Note: These two stories are both written about the same incident in my childhood. When I was twelve, a tornado hit my neighborhood. It hit our house and my grandma's house, who lived next door. There was damage to the houses and trees, but we were all okay. It was still a scary experience for me, though, because I had never been in a situation like that. It was especially scary because I was worried about my little brother and my grandma being safe.