Writing for Fun
July 2022
Marcia Hits Town - Lynn Gale
The old Apple tree creaked and swayed, its branches flaying angrily as fruit and foliage were ripped off and scattered to the howling wind.
She made her way through the empty high street, a solitary figure in her long frock coat of green and gold. Shuttered shops and boarded restaurants were a far cry from yesterday when the property magnates had gathered to eat, drink and slap each other on the back to celebrate the opening of Greenwood Island New town.
A News stand toppled over, spilling newspapers out into the swirling wind. The headlines declared. 'Storm Marcia, on her way,' and 'Global warming, is it a myth?'
She raised her arms as if conducting the strengthening wind; her long silver hair lifted, framing her head like a halo. As the lightning cracked, she laughed giddily, feeling the stinging bite of ice-cold rain on her long pale face.
A rubbish bin rolled past, picking up speed like it needed to be somewhere in a hurry; it caught the kerb, bouncing high into the air, before landing on an abandoned cherry-red sports car. The headlights flashed in indignation, the alarm barely audible above the screeching wind.
She watched as the corner of the Greenwood church roof began to lift, then fall, like a naughty child trying to sneak a peek at their Christmas present.
Finally, after three attempts, the covering peeled back, exposing newly felled wooden beams beneath. It rode the wind for a second, then spun across the road, careening into the glass-fronted welcome centre.
A whirlwind formed, helping itself to tables, chairs, plants, for Sale boards, and even a child's bike, the pink ribbons tied to the handlebars fanned out like wings as it flew up into the funnel.
She held her ground, her coat billowing out behind her, emerald eyes flashed in defiance as large grey cobbled stones lifted from the newly laid road and began to fly through the air like missiles. They whistled past her, shredding a banner that stated, ‘ReClaim Properties, homes for all,' before embedding themselves in the pastel façade of the five-hundred-roomed hotel, leaving gaping holes in the pristine wall.
The storm subsided just as quickly as it had began. She exhaled, smoothed back her hair and walked out of town.
Terrified people who had cowered in basements began to appear, assessing the damage caused by the third storm in as many months.
Reaching the top of the hill, she found them sitting on the fence.
‘Are you ok, Mother?’ the eldest said, his emerald green eyes showing concern. ‘I am ready to do my part.’
‘Patience Niall,’ she gave him a tired smile. ‘Your chance will come soon enough.’
‘What about us, Mother?’ Olivia flicked back her long gold-hair as she wrapped an arm around her red-haired twin.
‘Yes, Olivia, you and Petra will be required in the future. Unfortunately, I don't believe lessons have been learned.’
She gathered her children around her, and together they walked home, past the jagged tree stumps towards the last forest on the island.