I.
She was a hurricane; she crashed into his world, uninvited but welcomed. Who wouldn’t want an awakening? He knew all she needed was just a hiding place. The entrance was made with grandeur, her eyes alit with candour, yet when the curtain fell and the wind died down, the wailing was no more than a whimper.
He fell deeper every time she tried to threaten the sturdy pillars of his but he would not fall just because. The tendrils from the trees around the house came alive in her presence but extended themselves too to grip and pull him down to earth. She wanted to blow him apart and have him concede defeat. Do not fight nature! Yet this house had sheltered her well. Her conscience had to be clear. From the outside, the house looked splendid with its white picket fences and the swing in the porch. He would make a handsome home for others. But as the hurricane, she had made a tour of the interior, and she knew there was some plumbing to be done.
***
II.
She is unthinkable. Up till now.
He can’t let his thoughts linger any second longer.
Nor can he tell the difference between frisson and fear.
Knees knocking, arms crossing, eyes locking and averting, sighs colliding.
Fingers, light against her shoulder.
***
III.
She is unfazed even amid turmoil but she knows that she knows.
Between a giver and a receiver,
That shared knowledge alone is assurance and reassurance.
***
Writing Prompt #3: Write a short story about yourself as if you were psychic and able to read the thoughts of those around you. A brief character study of the inner workings of the people around you.
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