Post
by Skyswallow » Mon 23rd Dec 2013
Okay, ignoring these previous attempts at a story.
I wrote a thing. Sorry.
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Stormy Weather
Pearly-grey clouds scurried overhead, their undersides darker than the proverbial black cat in a coal cellar at night. The rain acted as a wet, miserable curtain, blocking out light and the rest of the world. And you know that chill you get when you open a fridge at midnight on a cold, moonless winter’s evening (providing you’ve ever had a reason to do so, of course)? That was nothing compared to the feel of the wind burrowing through every layer of clothing, freezing her skin and making her teeth chatter like old bones.
The only spot of colour in that grey, grey world was from the red umbrella she was fighting with the wind to control. Not that it actually did much good, it was just a matter of pride. Even five-year-olds get annoyed when an inanimate storm with no will of its own pinches their belongings. Plus, she still hoped that if she kept ahold of the umbrella, even when her knuckles were turning white with tension and her fingers were going pale from the cold, maybe her parents would find her.
On a sunny day, with clear skies and clear vision and the sun smiling like a benevolent deity, the park didn’t seem at all dangerous. But when you couldn’t tell whether you were near the gates, or the lake, or the bench all the old ladies with their too-small dogs would sit on; and the park seemed like a giants’ playground to you in the first place; and you didn’t know where your dad was; it was terrifying.
She might have been crying then, or it might have just been the rain dripping off her hood and into her eyes. Her socks were soaking inside her green big-girl’s wellies, and if she had walked into the lake at that moment, she though, she couldn’t get any wetter.
The wind was howling still, carrying phantom voices of the ghosts she was suddenly sure haunted the park. Howling her name, getting louder and louder… She started crying properly, screwing up her eyes and bawling like a two-year-old who’d stubbed their toe.
But then someone else was there, hugging her and finding a tissue and wiping her eyes. Her dad, holding her hand and (she was certain) scaring off all the ghosts and shadows and monsters under the bed. Her umbrella was the right way out again, she could see the gates looming up out of the mist, and she was going home.
Gallifrey - a Doctor Who fanfictionHunting the Disappeared - a Fowlock fanfictionStars, in your multitudes - scarce to be counted, filling the darkness with order and light! You are the sentinels, silent and sure - keeping watch in the night, keeping watch in the night.cepele retro petdamìnpasétócó - 'at some point, past!you gets a plant-like thing (that we think is from the future)'This user will debate you about how important Jean Valjean is (acceptable answer: very), and the distinction between 'antagonist' and 'villain' and how the terms apply to Javert and the Thenardiers.
that is sooo good! well done! 
