Storm

Safe Haven

A Storm is a like a relationship, some are turbulent, some are
never-ending, some are always waiting to blow up in your face.

At the beginning of any relationship like any storm, there is a period
of calmness, perfectness though you know it will never last. A time
will come when the clouds break and downpours follow, but why worry
that is a long time away, the skies are still bright and heavy with
sunshine. The birds sing joyful happy tunes. You can hear the children
laugh and giggle, chasing each other round trees but soon you know that
these same children will be standing on street corners, drinking,
sleeping around but that, like the storm, is far away in the distance.
Now the wind blows it away saving it for another rainy day. The
perfectness carries on, slightly marred by a cloud on the distant
horizon, marred like a silver engagement ring long ago forgotten, left
in some faraway draw. Today it is a lazy day. A day of nothing, a day
of eerie silence. You know something is going to happen. The sun still
shines, another lazy, hot, heavy day. The air pushing down, pressuring,
there seems to be no end. You know something is going to pop, pop like
the lid off a screeching kettle, whistling for attention, you can't
miss it. More clouds on the horizon, slowly making their way towards
your perfectness. The bleakness engulfs the surrounding area, but the
still the sun shines on, as you refuse to believe what is to happen.
The temperature drops, slowly, un-noticeable. You shrug it off; it's
nothing, just a breeze, and nothing else you say to yourself. Your safe
haven, for now is safe. Safe as houses, the saying goes.

The first few spats of rain drop and drip, nothing at first, fairies
dancing on a child's nose and mouth. The sun still shines on, never
altering your opinion that your safe haven may not be that safe. A
rainbow appears, changing the sky into a spectrum of colours, like
teardrops the rain is now, falling like the hurt from your soul.
Puddling at your feet, your slow realisation that things are not always
as they seem. Still the sun shines on, the clouds gather waiting,
watching and planning. They encroach on your safe haven, shadows
appear, wafting and waving. A memory of the future, past and present.
You know it is inevitable, a situation that must happen. Things are
good at misleading us, luring us into a false sense of security and
before you know it BANG. It's all over, in a million pieces on the
floor. Like a jigsaw hard to put back together and forgotten by
careless owners. However, you think to yourself 'no not me not yet'.
Nevertheless, the clouds ever darken and draw closer. Building a
fortress around your blindness. The clouds ahead turn dark and
foreboding - a typical horror movie situation I hear you say? Well its
true bad things happen in a storm. The wind now steadily picks up the
pace, gathering speed un-noticeable except for the shadows on the
floor. With the shadows the sun is stolen away like gold stripped from
an Inca temple. With the Sun no longer there is an omen of bad times
ahead. Rocky, unsteady and uncertain times.

First the rains come. Never-ending it seems. Like the never-ending
arguments, that fill the hallways and rooms with dread. Armies wait
behind clouds, waiting to ambush unlucky trespassers into forbidden
territory. The winds blow them from their hiding places and they
attack. Small at first, ever growing bigger. The wind tosses, turns,
and whirls the leaves in a pattern. Like there is a poltergeist
tormenting and chasing imaginary people. You think to yourself 'Why me?
Why now? Why here?'. The clouds press down, like a lid on a treasure
chest, hiding what's within from view of peeking eyes. The sea once
calm so turns on you. Frosty waves attack boats and trawlers. The wind
leads them off course like a fork in the road. Again the rain, rains
down, feels molten like in a volcano but we are lucky this time.
Hailstones appear in and among the rain. Bouncing off heads and
shoulders, causing pain, stinging. The eye of the storm is not calm
like the stories tell, you slowly realise this as if you were a child
accepting that Santa was never real. In the centre its worse, you are
bombarded by mini-fighter like jets of water from mean looking clouds.
Then the lightening strikes it forks and hisses like a snake feeling
for the vibrations of soft meat. Next the thunder rears its ugly head,
bellowing for attention. You can hear the children counting
1&;#8230;. 2&;#8230;. 3&;#8230;. 4&;#8230;. 5 between the
lightening and thunder, seeing how faraway or how near it actually is.
You hope it is faraway, hope it never enters your demesnes.

Your defences go up. Shutters slammed and locked. Televisions switched
off, washing brought in, chase the dog and cat into the house. Your
worse nightmare is coming, a thing you never thought you would see, a
night terror not a nightmare it's a hurricane. A hurricane with the
power to turn your world into Oz. You fear you'll soon meet the
scarecrow, lion and tin-man. You pray to any god that listens, you
pray, beg, grovel to the powers that be to leave you alone. You can
hear the noise a whooshing, like a vacuum just emptied, at full power,
zooming towards you at manic speed. The ground shakes, the thunder
stamps, the rain thuds, wind howls, the lightening splits the sky, the
sea roars and the clouds still push on. Still the nemesis approaches, a
medieval dragon in modern clothing. Knowing it's going to strike soon
and literally pull your feet from the ground. The end shows no arrival,
like that one seemingly insignificant announcement that tells you its
all over.

You cower in a corner. You wish for sun that sparkles, sea that gently
pushes, clouds that are light and fluffy; a normal day. You look up; it
seems different, quiet, eerie, something is not quite right; someone is
missing, like they never existed. However, you pinch yourself, your not
asleep or dead. You look out the window and in the distance your
nightmare leaves: You can see the trail of destruction around you but
you can walk out the house into the mild sun and dare to feel its
relaxing heat once more wash over you. The first bird raises it beak
and chirps, like the first day of creation or the day that Noah steps
off the ark into a new, fresh world. The world is clean, rejuvenated.
The air is light not muggy. The sun glimmers not burns. The clouds are
nowhere to be seen, banished to the pits of cloud hell. Children
appear, followed by hesitant adults into the new world given to them.
You can hear the children counting once more, not the thunder and
lightening, but the joys we have and feel. You hear shouts of joy and
jubilation, as you were saved. Your prayers were answered. You have
survived.