Tuesday, May 10, 2016

100 Words a Day 847

The previous night’s storm had been unremarkable until midnight, when a barrage of lightning woke the occupants of the house. The booming thunder deafened them and shocked them upright in their beds. When they were again able to close their eyes, the afterimages crafted by the lightning followed them into their dreams. The next morning they rushed outside one by one, still in their pajamas and without their morning coffees. The large tree, whose truck, when it was upright, they couldn’t have encircled by joining hands around it, was uprooted and lying dead on its side, its charred roots exposed.

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