Five Minute Fiction Week 111

The shrieking winds were dying down, the sharp lashing of rain against grass and pavement calmed. Mom looked up from the radio, a smile of relief on her tired face.

“It might be safe to go outside now,” Dad said to me. “Do you want to look?”

I nodded, slipping my small hand into his – so much larger and wiser than my own. The door stuck and he tugged it open, revealing a world that looked like a jungle to my childish eyes.

“This is what a hurricane does.” Dad waved his hand free hand around us as he lead me off the porch, holding me tight with the other. “But it’s not over yet. This is just the middle.”

“The eye?” I asked. His pleased smile made me beam. I craned my neck back, looking up toward the swirling gray above our heads. “But, Daddy…I don’t see an eye in the sky. Just clouds.”

He chuckled and tousled my hair. “It’s not a real eye, honey. That’s just what they call it.”

I scrunched up my nose, deciding that I much preferred the swirl of words on paper, or the splash of color on canvas, to the strange ways of Mother Nature. “Science is weird,” I told him.

Dad agreed and took me back inside.

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