Wet bullets pounded my skull. The giant oak slapped the roof, knocking loose sharp shingles to shatter on cobblestone.
Jack out there, lost in the TV’s Category 5 storm.
Lightning flashed an impossibly tall woman in a black dress, hips swaying, a terrifying dance spawned by the devilish storm.
I dodged the roof’s guillotines, hopped an oak limb, ducked under a flying red wheelbarrow.
Thunder cracked. A bark. I scooped up Jack, huddled near the shed. Fur flying, he licked my face. Jack safe in the basement, I crouched atop the storm door as she ripped the roof off the place.
Really evocative imagery! One tiny cavil: Either the dog’s in motion, fur flying–or he’s licking the protagonist’s face. Can’t really do both at the same time.
Thanks David. Good feedback.
A long-haired dog’s fur would be flying in the wind, while the dog licks his owner – that’s how I read it…
Yes, and that’s how I intended it. Clarity can be a fuzzy thing!
Awesome! Powerful images, just the right choice of words and so much said in so very little, strong personification of nature, vivid descriptions. Amazing story.
Thanks for the kind words. Glad you enjoyed it.
I echo many of the remarks above. Very good example of “show, don’t tell.” This is a Winner.
Nice echo. Glad you liked it.
Really great storm!!!
And I love a good storm.
Really a well thought out story. The word choices made me believe that I was right there as a participant.
Thanks. Having transported you is a wonderfully nice thing to hear.
Loved it! A lot packed into a brief moment.