The Young Storm

Where It Began

Brandon was in 6th grade when it all began. His home life was becoming difficult. His mom was sick. It started off as a simple cold but it morphed into something more deadly. There were no real doctors in or near Center Hill. His father would have to travel days, maybe weeks during a dust storm to find a doctor. Even if they sacrificed the money for the trip, there would be none left for treatment or medicine. It pained Brandon deeply to see him mom so ill.

While his friends learned to dance, and flirted with town girls, he was stuck at home, helping. Never would he complain about it. This right here, all of the anger and sorrow embedded in his heart would be his worst enemy. It would build high and powerful, and he wouldn't be able to control it.

His grades suffered because of his home life. The majority of his friends realized there was something wrong but Brandon was not the one to voice his feelings openly, which I wish he did, as it would be easier to narrate this story for you. But when Brandon didn't understand how he felt, how could I know?

I was there to witness his mom's death; her soul glowing as she said goodbye to her son. Brandons dad was selling to customers on the floor beneath, and Brandon could not find the voice to call to him. He held onto her soft hands, while tears poured in tsunami waves down his skin. She smiled her last time in his arms. I remember the scene all too detailed. In his grief he screamed, a shrill sound that sent chills down my spine.

The wooden boards creaked as the earth's dirt unhinged itself from the rest of the world. Brandon's dad called to him but he was so absorbed in his pain he did not hear him. He stood slowly from his bowed knee. That single motion strengthened the shaking of the ground. Brandon's dad reached the stair tops fast enough to drag his son back down to safe ground. His fathers grip tightened on him as their home and the deli store broke seal with the surrounding soil and sunk below the crust. Brandon tried reaching out, as if it could do anything. He fell to the ground in a whirl of tears and rusty dirt. His father held onto him tighter than he ever had. Brandon did not need to tell him. He could feel it. Part of him was gone.