The Storm

My name is Ruby Adams. I'm nineteen years old, and this is my story about the storm.

It was a very unusual cold day in the peak of July. Something just felt different about this day. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

My day started just like any other day—up early, bag packed for work, walking down the stairs, seeing my father passed out drunk again from the night before. At least this time he made it home. One time, I found him passed out in the garden, or that time in the park. The smell of alcohol all over him, mixed in with cigarettes, isn't helping either. It smells so bad.

The worst part of it all was that he never used to be like this. He used to be a kind father, full of love and attention. He would take me everywhere with him. Well, that was until my mum passed away. Then it was like a switch was flipped—a different man. Sometimes he would get very nasty, calling me names and throwing things at me. This didn’t happen often, only when he had vodka or whiskey. He would always start blaming me for Mum’s passing and saying it’s all my fault. He managed to stop being so nasty when he began drinking cider. This just made him sleep a lot, but already it had caused a drift in our relationship.

My brother, who is older than me, couldn’t take it anymore. He ran away, leaving me behind to go to New York. From what I hear, he’s married and is expecting twins. I still haven’t gotten a call to check if I’m alright. He’s bound to have heard what happened here. I mean, the worst storm in recent history, and your own brother doesn’t bother to ring to see if you’re okay.

It started with the clouds. I was working in the town library—a small town, miles from anywhere, so this was the only job available. I hated it. I remember looking out the window and noticing that the clouds were extremely grey. I thought to myself, Lots of rain is coming, and I don’t have my car.

I finished my shift and ran home as fast as I could. I didn’t want to get wet. As soon as I got home, it started to rain. My father was still out, but I noticed an empty bottle of whiskey, and I knew this wasn’t good. I knew I had to be prepared for him coming home, so I rushed up to my room and decided to barricade the door with my bed. It would be hard to open it with me sleeping on it.

I lay on my bed, feeling safe, and drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, I was awoken by the destruction of the storm. I quickly looked out my window and saw a huge, dark grey twister ripping through my town, destroying everything in its path. The screams of the people running from it, I will never forget. I still hear them in my head. I remember seeing it coming toward me. I did my best to get away. I hid under my bed, closed my eyes, and hoped it would pass. But it ripped the roof off, and everything in my room was destroyed. I was then hit by something on the head and knocked out.

I remember waking up in my room. I took a look around and was extremely confused. There was no damage; everything seemed normal. Was this a dream? I thought it had to be. I felt happy. Oh, this is just one of those dreams that feel real.

I quickly got out of bed, got myself ready for work. I had some extra time, so I went down to find my father to see if he got home. But when I got to the living room, I noticed the smell of bacon in the kitchen. It was him. He was so happy. He came in with a breakfast made for me. I remember he said, "Hey, pumpkin, I made you your favorite." I remember being so happy that he was happy. Maybe he's back to the way he used to be.

I sat down with my breakfast and turned the TV on. Right away, the news channel displayed these big words:

Saying: Small town destroyed.

It was my town. Why is my town destroyed? I'm here; nothing is wrong. Just as I said this to myself, my surroundings suddenly changed in the blink of an eye. My whole house was destroyed, and everything around me was destroyed. Why didn’t I see this before? Was I imagining that everything was okay? I had no breakfast in my hands but instead had dirty hands. I quickly got up from the chair and looked in the mirror, and saw that I couldn’t even see my own reflection.

What is going on?

Where is my father?

Did my dream come true?

Did I predict this?

Am I even alive?

My name is Ruby Adams. I am nineteen years old, and this is my story about the storm.