The Storm

This started from a prompt, modified to fit what I thought I wanted. Then, partway through (because I got distracted after I only had a couple of hundred words on the page), a friend mentioned trying to write super short stories of 500 words or less. I looked at it, and this just happened to fit the bill, coming in at 497 words.  So, here is The Storm. 

It was late, and lightning was flashing across the sky. The wind hadn’t picked up yet, but I knew it was coming. “Are you staying or are you going?” I asked her as she came down the stairs with her suitcase in hand. She didn’t even look at me. She was angry. Sometimes when she did this, she would put her things in the first-floor guest room; other times, she would walk out the door. “If you are going, how do I make you stay?” That earned me a glare that should have killed me. “Would it make a difference if I said I was wrong?” For the record, I wasn’t wrong, at least I still didn’t think I was, but if it would get her stay, at least tonight, then I would admit to being wrong.

“No. I’m done with your games, Dylan. I am leaving. Nothing you can say can change my mind.” She started to walk out the door as another lightning strike lit up the sky.

“Korali, please. Wait until morning. That’s all I ask.”

She rolled her eyes and continued out the door. The car was old, and the tires needed to be replaced. I could have used all those reasons, yet my astonishment left me silent. Korali was always careful, especially with storms. Had I really upset her that much? Was she even thinking straight? I watched Korali throw her things into the backseat. It wasn’t until she had turned the key that I found my feet moving towards the car.

“Korali, please. Don’t leave tonight.”

“I can’t stand you anymore, Dylan. I won’t stay another minute.”

She put her foot on the gas as she shifted into drive. The tires spun, throwing dirt and rocks all over me as she peeled out of the drive. I wanted to run after her, but that’s when the rain started. It was a hard pelting rain. It felt like ice. I ignored it, though, hoping I would see her hit the brakes, turn around, just something. The bad feeling in the pit of my stomach grew, and it was only when she was but a speck of dust in a lightning strike that I saw the funnel cloud form. I ran for my basement, praying that she was out of harm’s way.

The storm sounded horrible. I could hear the wood snapping, glass shattering, and the sound of a train as if it was passing right next to me. I waited until morning before I made my way back out. It was difficult because there was debris on the door. Everything was reduced to rubble. That was fine. I could rebuild, but then I saw it. The old familiar car, twisted and mangled; laying in my front yard. There was blood on the windshield. Korali didn’t make it. The love of my life was gone. I fell to my knees and cried, finally admitting I was wrong. I was 8 hours too late.