Winds gust and panes quake as rain pounds the glass and creeps in through a cracked seal. It pools on the sill beside me, taking—of all forms—that of a heart.
That’s right, I remember. There’s such a thing as “the heart of the storm.”
But it’s always cold.
EO hopes that the next Goliath storm bound for the northeast gets lazy and simply opts to send a postcard instead.
Strutting down the street, Bubba yelled scornfully at the lesser humans scurrying into neighboring buildings. He had honed his 300-pound body into muscular mastery, and he knew it would handle any wind the hurricane could throw at him.
“Uh oh,” he whimpered, when he saw the Winnebago flying towards him.
Michael Coolen is a pianist, composer, actor, writer, and performance artist who lives in Corvallis, Oregon.
Never one to live within the boundaries of convention, Silas stood in the center of his attic.
As a bulb swayed from the cyclone’s winds, his shadow mimicked each whip crack.
Rearing back, Silas bellowed, “Down, Samson, down.”
The inflatable lion complied with a short bark and a prolonged hiss.
Craig Holzschuh is unpublished, unemployed, and unavailable for weddings or Bar Mitzvahs. He is currently contemplating a run for political office or just a trip to the fridge.
There was a man who lived on a mountain. It was a stormy place, and the sounds kept him awake each night.
Fed up, the man challenged the storm to a duel.
It responded by spitting lightning bolts and shouting thunder.
Bemused, he caught the lightning and threw it back.
Sean Quigley also goes by “Posh Platypus.” Follow him on Twitter: @PoshPlatypus.
The rough seas thrashed against the side of the boat. The sky filled with ominous grey clouds.
Men scurried across the deck of the ship. All were dripping and soaked from the monstrous sea forcing itself on board the vessel.
The captain called out, “Cannons at the ready!”
Cameron Brown is a student at Holden Lane High in Stoke-on-Trent, England.