The Anticipation of One Superstorm 

Liv Palubeckis

The swirls of gray and pink and yellow and blue in the sky looked so angry, much more angry than they’d been seen in a long, long time. Lightning crackled and touched the ground for the first time in years in burning yellow sparks, leaving scorched circles of earth below. Relief was felt at the waves of energy being released from the dark sky dotted with sparks, relief at the storm leaving scorched bits of land behind as it moved over the large island. Everywhere it traveled it seemed to gain consciousness each time, growing bigger and stronger with every bolt of lightning that hit the ground, seeming to soak up the life energy in the ground. It seemed alive.

Today was the day it would wreak the most havoc it had in so long, the day all the energy it had been saving up would finally flow back into the black land below it, the day it’s greatest wish of bringing such terror the the small figures below it would be fulfilled. As the tempest approached the shores of the Shadow Realm, lightning sparked just off the black sandy coast in anticipation, reflecting off the pink sea turning gray from the clouds raining above it. Thunder rumbled in excitement as the clouds drifted in closer to the buildings below. Finally touching down on the black sand far below, wind kicked up the sand from the beach, huge swirls of it and sent dunes tumbling over the bubbly landscape.

Then the storm reached the first hints of civilization. Planks of wood flew up and up and up and into the black sky, swirling around the currents of wind that were dusted with sand and gravel and bits of water and ice from the sea it had just left. Faces from the small figures beneath it looked up with fear glistening in their eyes as they ran to board up in their homes that were expected to be caught in its twirling winds.

Storms generally didn’t seek the pleasure in the destruction they caused. They generally didn’t think or have a conscience, but this one, everybody could see that it was different, growing in strength and size and power everytime it struck the ground. There were almost arms of the lightning, pulling ahead and seeming to push the dark clouds from behind, reaching out for anything to latch on to. It seemed to want to sit on top of the bustling city below it for the remainder of its life. This tempest wanted to witness the chaos it caused, it wanted to remember the terror and destruction it would create and have its final moments in this havoc it had made.

Intricate lamplights were torn up from the ground they were rooted in and flew above the city and entered the eye of the storm after being caught in the strong currents of air, flowers were torn off their stems and leaves off their trees and vines off their buildings, all trapped in the endless wind cycle flowing around the city. There seemed to be no end to the makings of disaster the tempest brought, and it relished in that. It sent ice, snow, hail down to the streets, water, lightning, wind, anything. The thunder only grew in velocity and power, shaking the wood and metal buildings and causing cracks to appear in their foundations which quickly grew over with the vines that continued to be attached to their buildings.

It didn’t stop. It only rested, but its resting only went on for a few days, the dark clouds remaining in their same position above the entirety of the Shadow Realm, stretching far and wide to cover it. Eventually the people below started looking up at the tempest, not with terror reflecting in their eyes, not happiness either, maybe just contemptness. They no longer hid in their houses or apartments in fear of being swept away; no, however strong the winds were, they weren’t strong enough to sweep any of them off their feet and whisk them up into the clouds above. Water swirled from the beach nearing the edges of the storm, some brave souls from the people below appearing in the waves, continuing to spend their days surfing.

Life continued below the twisting tempest. Its clouds remained dark and ominous, its rains heavy and cold and icy, snow freezing and piling on top of itself, it tried everything it could think of to remain terrible and terrifying, yet people continued on with their lives. However badly this tempest wanted it, though this storm was bad, it was not the worst these people had seen throughout their lives. Defeated, it slowly crept away from the city and back where it had come from, back to the sea behind it where it could capture more energy to come back to this city and wreak even more destruction. Its tendrils of lightning snapped at the ground in some last hope to cause destruction but failed; there was nothing left here for the tempest to take. The city was a city of survivors, of workers, of strong wills. But next time the storm would be prepared.

The next morning traces of it could still be seen: loose boards, lamplights on the sides of streets missing, bare trees and flower stems, fewer vines on some of the buildings, but life continued on. The storm, saddened by its loss and far out in the sea by now, could be made out on the edges of the horizon, but only barely; it was nearly out of view of even the sharpest of the most clear sighted person. But those who could still see it say it seemed miserable, surrounded by sorrow, its clouds droopy, sorrowful at the lack of destruction it had seemed to cause. It swore it would be back, stronger and ready to release its energy on the buildings and sand and life below, and it would become such a horrible storm people would have to recognize it.