Create A Scene Tuesday (7)

Boy! What a Monday! Well, here we are again! Here is this week’s elements.

For rules – please see Create a Scene Tuesdays. For last weeks entries – click here!

This week:

 Character – A Child Under 13 Years Old 

 Action – Watching a Thunder Storm

 Setting – Any Building

My entry: Mary sat in the studio alone, watching the pulsing lightning outside the window. She jumped each time the thunder echoed over head. She curled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her heart pounded in fear, but she didn’t wish to show it. After all, third graders shouldn’t fear anything, unless they wished to be dubbed a cry baby.

Even in her own home, she tried to stand up to her fears. She held her brother’s pet spider, she slipped into the crawlspace in the basement, and now she was sitting in the studio facing the storm on the top floor of their two story town house.

The lights flickered in the room, until one large strike and a thunderous boom plunged her into the darkness. Mary screamed and began to cry. Lightning illuminated the room every few seconds. She curled herself tighter into a ball, whaling in fear. A flashlight beam pierced the darkness and focused on her tears. Her father stepped lightly to her side and wrapped his arms around her.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

Mary sobbed, “I was… I was trying… but, I can’t… I’m scared… Daddy, I’m scared!”

Jason cradled his daughter as the lightning continued in full force, “Just think of it as fireworks.”

“I can’t! I’m afraid! The sound! The wind! The rain! What if lightning hit our house?”

“That’s not likely.”

Mary looked into her father’s eyes.

 “Lightning will more than likely hit the tallest object than our little home.”

“It will?”

“Yes, Mary. And can you think what the tallest building is?”

Mary shook her head.

“Remember the water tower a few blocks away? That is what will likely be hit, more so than this house. Even many trees are taller than us.”

“So, we’re safe?”

“We’re safe.”

Mary looked out at the lightning. In some ways, it began to look beautiful. Yellow, white, and blue strokes of paint connecting the earth to the sky.

“Come on, time for bed.”

6 thoughts on “Create A Scene Tuesday (7)

  1. Sophi says:

    Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The rain came down in sheets. The water flowed into fast rivulets from the yard to the street. Jen had checked in every room of her cottage. Her daughter, three year old Lizzy was nowhere to be found. Jen was beginning to panic. She grabbed her rain jacket and ran out into the storm. She called Jen’s name and searched the front and back yards. She burst back into the kitchen in tears. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Okay she thought, let’s check one more time. She walked thru the first floor checking the living room behind the couch, dining area under the table, and kitchen in the pantry. Jen opened the hall closet and checked the floor. She checked the powder room and under the vanity. She climbed the stairs to the second floor. She started with Lizzy’s room, and checked the bed, in the closet, and the bath. Lizzy was not there. Jen walked into her own room and checked. Suddenly she heard soft whimpering. She opened the walk-in closet. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. Thunder rumbled overhead and there was another whimper. Jen pushed the skirts and slacks aside on the lower closet bar. There nestled in the shoes with her teddy bear, Leonard, was Lizzy. Her eyes swollen and her face streaked from crying. Jen knelt down and smiled.
    “Is there enough room in there for me?” Jen asked.
    Lizzy nodded.

    Like

  2. Lisa says:

    Kelsey and Sophi, both of your scenes brought me right back to the feeling of fear as a young child, and the ways in which we all seek comfort.

    —————————

    They watched and listened as the low dark clouds arrive from the west like a herd of horses, the rumble first low and distant, then louder and nearer until Myra thought she could feel rough, scratchy manes whipping against her cheeks and massive hooves shaking the ground.

    She stood outside the house with her mother and father and brothers, all of them facing the approaching tempest, willing it to arrive. It was the summer of 1976, the year of the bicentennial, and their farm had not felt a drop of rain for six weeks. She was as dry and parched as the land itself. When the first splash hit her face, she tipped her head back to receive more. Her father and mother stood still, as if the eye of the storm itself, their outlines softening and blurring in the increasingly heavy downpour. Her twin four-year-old brothers jumped and danced and splashed in the fast-forming puddles, the ground so hard and dry that it at first refused to be slaked. The boys’ squeals echoed the screaming wind.

    As if someone turned a light switch on then off, their farm was illuminated and, almost at once, a crack of thunder made them all jump.

    “We should go in!” her mother yelled above the roar.

    Myra’s father nodded, and the two of them held hands, while the boys played and Myra rode the storm across the prairie.

    Like

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