The Storm Breaks - A Short Story

The Storm Breaks

A Short Story by Preston H. Edwards

In the beginning, there was nothing but the cool breeze on the air. The little boy sat with his father on a rocking chair on the front porch of their house as they often did. He looked out at all the birds and squirrels. With a mouth not yet full of teeth bared for the world to see, he shrieked in glee as he held his feet.

The air shifted. The smell changed. The animals, once dancing for the young boy’s entertainment, shuffled off into the woods. With utter dismay, the boy cried out to them. The chipmunks and the wrens. The cardinals and the beavers. It was no use. The little animals scurried along to their humble abodes wherein they would be safe from what was to come. The little boy was not aware of the snare in which the hare may fare. On his father rocked. On the wind blew.

The sky above darkened. A feeling of wonderous joy overtook the young boy as he beheld the majesty of the clouds. They looked so puffy and black high up above. Water began to pour from the sky, but on they rocked. The little boy sat in his father’s lap as the rain cascaded down over the gutters of their house in thick sheets. Looking out into the yard, the little boy’s gaze was interrupted again and again by the too thick sheets of rain. He yelped in annoyance.

Lo and behold! The thunder roared and the lightning cracked. The little boy jumped nearly out of his diaper he was so scared. The sky lit up with the dance of angels, the battle of gods, the cosmic heartbeat which spoke such violent and beautiful music into the world. On the little boy and his father rocked in the chair as the little boy felt the hair on his neck rise while that new smell lingered in the air.

Lo and behold! Once more, the sky erupted into brilliant white light and the roll of the thunder cascaded to hit the little boy’s ears like an over excited cymbal player at a middle school band concert. The diaper, holding on by the hairs of its chin, was now filled with a different color of rain the little boy was so scared. On they rocked in the wooden chair as the rain cascaded down and the thunder roared and the lightning cracked.

The little boy looked up at his father. For the first time since the smell of the air had changed and the wind had blown and the rain had begun and the thunder had roared and the lightning had cracked, his father looked down at him. He saw the fear etched on the little boy’s face. The father said no words. Leaning down to his little cherub, he kissed his forehead, smiled, and continued to rock.

Suddenly, the little boy no longer felt fear. The sky continued the dance of the great leviathans. The lightshow of Mother Nature cracked and roared and toiled and rolled as the night drew on. Yet, on they rocked in that wooden chair. It creaked and moaned like an old friend. After a few more minutes, the little boy laid his weary head against his father’s chest and closed his eyes. After a few more heartbeats, sleep claimed the boy.

The lightning cracked and the thunder roared and the rain poured down and the chair creaked and moaned and none of that mattered as the little boy rocked in his father’s arms. With a smile, his father leaned down and kissed the little cherub once more on the head. On they rocked as the storm broke.