Storms

A Story by gabiaimee

Why storms are named after people

Staring out the window is like gazing into your eyes, onto your body, into your soul. You sweep over me the way a cloud bank rolls slowly over land. From burning blue to ashen gray and every colourless shade, you pierce me with one look and chill me with the arctic numbness of your fingertips. Wind shakes the grasses like the trembling of your hands; howling overwhelms my ears with every sweet nothing you whisper. Now I'm shivering too as your hurricane strengthens, with accompanying showers leaving a pleasant dampness on my mouth. Icy hailstones leave bruises on my neck and down my shoulders. Falling power lines capitulate to the gusts, destroying my thought and function. Floods come quickly; levees break in the corner of my eyes and water rushes, pushed, across my face and down my body. I find myself lost, drowning, and I remember why storms are named after people.