The Sea Foam Churning from My Mind (Collection)

Storm Inside [FF]

This was technically written last year, but I want to add it anyway! I wrote this for an Instagram contest (I didn't win btw). Also, I don't reread these before I update so... sorry if they're bad.

Storm Inside [Written 8-10-19]

The cool wind blows through the bare branches of the tree. A girl watches it bend and shake and snap. One of the top limbs falls from the weight of the growing mistletoe and the pressure of the wind. The clouds darken the sky and it is lit for just moments by electricity. Amidst the fury, they sob, letting go of the sadness bottled up within them, showering down on the world. The clouds scream and lash out with their lightning, their electric fingers burning the ground, the trees, the people.

The girl sits quietly in her window. She longs to be that storm. To let her emotions run wild. To cry, to hurt, and to hurt others because they couldn't possibly understand. Not her parents, not her friends, no one in the world would understand her pain. She reaches out and touches the window. Her fingers follow the streaming water on the cold pane of glass.

People are talking around her. They have been since that night. Always around her, never to her. "Oh, she's too young," they say, "she shouldn't hear these things." But she wanted to. She needed to. She needs to know.

What happened to my sister?

Why hasn't she come home?

The girl's hand drops into her lap and grasps tightly to the black fabric. The sky screams again. She wants to scream with it. She wants to scream and cry and just do something. Something to make it stop. Something to make everything stop hurting.

Because her sister isn't coming home.

She never will. The two would never be able to watch their favorite movies together or sing every song from High School Musical at the top of their lungs or have their mini sleepovers just so they could be close. Never again.

The girl's mother is keeping a straight face for now, but behind closed doors, she has gone through box after box of tissues. She has soaked through the fabric at the shoulder of her husband's shirts for the last week. And that husband has sat in the dark while two of the women he loves slept. He has sat on the bed of the third woman, tears falling from his eyes onto the purple duvet, the one she had refused to give up since she was ten.

Because that woman is gone.

The sky crackles with electricity as they carry her out. They hold umbrellas over the carefully carved wood, even though they know it would be buried soon. The girl and her parents follow the box. The stand around the muddy hole it's placed over. The rain splashes their cheeks as they each go forward and place a purple flower on top.

Because they were her favorite color.