This story was written on the week that Storm Ellen swooped across the Atlantic Ocean, hitting Great Britain and Ireland.
The Storm
I lay in a crumpled heap. Forgotten and lost. The other sad souls that had been piled on top of me groaned and moaned, unable to escape. Pungent smells of sweat and grime were putrid and haunting. I dreamt of my old, happy life. I was so comfortable and fresh in my lush home. But all of that was over now. Blackness surrounded me – a heavy blanket of mourning.
As I became accustomed to the darkness, there was a sudden flash of brightest white sheet lightning. Without warning I was bundled into another dark pit of doom. Ominous thunder began to rumble from all sides of the enclosure. The horrific thunder continued until the weather abruptly turned savage. The wind was a puppeteer and we were its marionettes.
Torrential rain beat down upon us and the wind swept us round and round, until I felt faint. Water was creeping up and drenching everyone in reach. We were crammed in like sardines, constantly spinning and banging into each other. Suddenly, the relentless torrent of abuse ceased. Had this torture ended? As hope leaked into me, I sighed with relief. But it was short lived. Once again, we were spun round but in the opposite direction!
Over the next half an hour we faced tempestuous rapids that would suddenly subside, only to return moments later with a vengeance. I’d even stopped glancing up in the hope of being rescued. Would I survive this madness? Just when I thought I could take no more, we were hurtled round, faster than ever as a tsunami of waves engulfed us, reaching a crescendo! By then we were just a blur of colour. After many painful minutes of the sickly sensation, we stopped. Hopefully for good. I had lost my bearings. As I was hanging upside down, disorientated and nauseous, a distant voice shouted, “Mum! The washing machine’s finished!”
Amazing 😁
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