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It was a warm, rainy afternoon, and I had just left my small, wooden school desk to get a book from the shelf on the other side of the room. We needed to make sure we had something to read when there was no more work to do, or if our teacher was just in a good mood. I skimmed over the many books, sitting on my knees, to choose a book. The shelf wasn’t very big, but it blocked my view of the windows to the left of my desk.
The rain pounded heavily on the windows, and the roars of thunder raised a few eyebrows. My eyes were fixated on the books, and a big, red one grabbed my attention. I could hear it calling out to me. There was another crash of thunder outside; the wind began to whistle while I examined the thick spine of the book. As I reached out my right hand to grab it, the sound of smashing glass filled the room. A few people freaked out, but I remained speechless like the rest. I didn’t know what to do; I was too scared to move.
Our teacher seemed surprisingly calm in the situation, and ordered us all to leave the room into the bottom floor hallway. She was a tall, thin, black woman with short, straight hair. At the time, she was wearing blue denim jeans and a bright green sweat shirt with a thick collar. Before walking through the door, I turned my head to the broken windows, glass littered the floor. The wind was as strong as an ox; I could see the effect it had on the poor flailing trees. Flashes of yellow light burst from the cloudy sky. I turned away from the windows and finally proceeded through the door.
When we all made our way down to the lower corridor of the building, we were instructed to drop to the floor immediately. The next thing I could see was the blackness of my eyelids. I was way too anxious to think straight. The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, obviously a teacher. Shortly afterwards, various conversations broke out among the students and teachers; quiet conversations. We were eventually told to head into the school’s Gymnasium when the staff was sure it was safe. I opened my eyes again, and got up to follow everybody else.
The Gym was as loud as the thunder outside it. Many were panicking, some were in the middle of long, irrelevant conversations in attempt to take their minds off the situation, and the rest of us had entered the large room and only just taken our seats on the rows of wooden bleachers. The dim lights turned the place into a starlit night. A female member of staff burst through the doors yelling “My car! It hit my car!”, interrupting all sound in the room briefly. The room stayed fairly quiet for a little while, albeit the teachers were whispering among each other. Everybody else joined in on the whispering instantly, until the level of audibility began to increase. I simply wept, wondering if I would ever get home safely, despite people reassuring me that I would.
As I witnessed many of my fellow pupils get picked up by their parents and buses, I became more and more concerned about myself. It was starting to seem like I was going to be the last one to leave the school. No more rushing teachers, no more rowdy kids. There was only a small few of us remaining. My eyes were focused on the doors, waiting for a familiar face. Another child had just been picked up, then another. Finally, my mother came through the double doors. I could go home and lie down at last.
It’s funny really. We had so many practise drills at my school, but I never would have believed there would actually ever be a real tornado.
The rain pounded heavily on the windows, and the roars of thunder raised a few eyebrows. My eyes were fixated on the books, and a big, red one grabbed my attention. I could hear it calling out to me. There was another crash of thunder outside; the wind began to whistle while I examined the thick spine of the book. As I reached out my right hand to grab it, the sound of smashing glass filled the room. A few people freaked out, but I remained speechless like the rest. I didn’t know what to do; I was too scared to move.
Our teacher seemed surprisingly calm in the situation, and ordered us all to leave the room into the bottom floor hallway. She was a tall, thin, black woman with short, straight hair. At the time, she was wearing blue denim jeans and a bright green sweat shirt with a thick collar. Before walking through the door, I turned my head to the broken windows, glass littered the floor. The wind was as strong as an ox; I could see the effect it had on the poor flailing trees. Flashes of yellow light burst from the cloudy sky. I turned away from the windows and finally proceeded through the door.
When we all made our way down to the lower corridor of the building, we were instructed to drop to the floor immediately. The next thing I could see was the blackness of my eyelids. I was way too anxious to think straight. The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, obviously a teacher. Shortly afterwards, various conversations broke out among the students and teachers; quiet conversations. We were eventually told to head into the school’s Gymnasium when the staff was sure it was safe. I opened my eyes again, and got up to follow everybody else.
The Gym was as loud as the thunder outside it. Many were panicking, some were in the middle of long, irrelevant conversations in attempt to take their minds off the situation, and the rest of us had entered the large room and only just taken our seats on the rows of wooden bleachers. The dim lights turned the place into a starlit night. A female member of staff burst through the doors yelling “My car! It hit my car!”, interrupting all sound in the room briefly. The room stayed fairly quiet for a little while, albeit the teachers were whispering among each other. Everybody else joined in on the whispering instantly, until the level of audibility began to increase. I simply wept, wondering if I would ever get home safely, despite people reassuring me that I would.
As I witnessed many of my fellow pupils get picked up by their parents and buses, I became more and more concerned about myself. It was starting to seem like I was going to be the last one to leave the school. No more rushing teachers, no more rowdy kids. There was only a small few of us remaining. My eyes were focused on the doors, waiting for a familiar face. Another child had just been picked up, then another. Finally, my mother came through the double doors. I could go home and lie down at last.
It’s funny really. We had so many practise drills at my school, but I never would have believed there would actually ever be a real tornado.
Hmm, mixed feelings about this.
A small bit too short, and didn't seem to have all that much of a point. There weren't any clever twists or anything.
Good, but no cigar, sorry Marink.
A small bit too short, and didn't seem to have all that much of a point. There weren't any clever twists or anything.
Good, but no cigar, sorry Marink.
It was a warm, rainy afternoon, and I had just left my small, wooden school desk to get a book from the shelf on the other side of the room. We needed to make sure we had something to read when there was no more work to do, or if our teacher was just in a good mood. I skimmed over the many books, sitting on my knees, to choose a book. The shelf wasn’t very big, but it blocked my view of the windows to the left of my desk.
The rain pounded heavily on the windows, and the roars of thunder raised a few eyebrows. My eyes were fixated on the books, and a big, red one grabbed my attention. I could hear it calling out to me. There was another crash of thunder outside; the wind began to whistle while I examined the thick spine of the book. As I reached out my right hand to grab it, the sound of smashing glass filled the room. A few people freaked out, but I remained speechless like the rest. I didn’t know what to do; I was too scared to move.
Our teacher seemed surprisingly calm in the situation, and ordered us all to leave the room into the bottom floor hallway. She was a tall, thin, black woman with short, straight hair. At the time, she was wearing blue denim jeans and a bright green sweat shirt with a thick collar. Before walking through the door, I turned my head to the broken windows, glass littered the floor. The wind was as strong as an ox; I could see the effect it had on the poor flailing trees. Flashes of yellow light burst from the cloudy sky. I turned away from the windows and finally proceeded through the door.
When we all made our way down to the lower corridor of the building, we were instructed to drop to the floor immediately. The next thing I could see was the blackness of my eyelids. I was way too anxious to think straight. The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, obviously a teacher. Shortly afterwards, various conversations broke out among the students and teachers; quiet conversations. We were eventually told to head into the school’s Gymnasium when the staff was sure it was safe. I opened my eyes again, and got up to follow everybody else.
The Gym was as loud as the thunder outside it. Many were panicking, some were in the middle of long, irrelevant conversations in attempt to take their minds off the situation, and the rest of us had entered the large room and only just taken our seats on the rows of wooden bleachers. The dim lights turned the place into a starlit night. A female member of staff burst through the doors yelling “My car! It hit my car!”, interrupting all sound in the room briefly. The room stayed fairly quiet for a little while, albeit the teachers were whispering among each other. Everybody else joined in on the whispering instantly, until the level of audibility began to increase. I simply wept, wondering if I would ever get home safely, despite people reassuring me that I would.
As I witnessed many of my fellow pupils get picked up by their parents and buses, I became more and more concerned about myself. It was starting to seem like I was going to be the last one to leave the school. No more rushing teachers, no more rowdy kids. There was only a small few of us remaining. My eyes were focused on the doors, waiting for a familiar face. Another child had just been picked up, then another. Finally, my mother came through the double doors. I could go home and lie down at last.
It’s funny really. We had so many practise drills at my school, but I never would have believed there would actually ever be a real tornado.
The rain pounded heavily on the windows, and the roars of thunder raised a few eyebrows. My eyes were fixated on the books, and a big, red one grabbed my attention. I could hear it calling out to me. There was another crash of thunder outside; the wind began to whistle while I examined the thick spine of the book. As I reached out my right hand to grab it, the sound of smashing glass filled the room. A few people freaked out, but I remained speechless like the rest. I didn’t know what to do; I was too scared to move.
Our teacher seemed surprisingly calm in the situation, and ordered us all to leave the room into the bottom floor hallway. She was a tall, thin, black woman with short, straight hair. At the time, she was wearing blue denim jeans and a bright green sweat shirt with a thick collar. Before walking through the door, I turned my head to the broken windows, glass littered the floor. The wind was as strong as an ox; I could see the effect it had on the poor flailing trees. Flashes of yellow light burst from the cloudy sky. I turned away from the windows and finally proceeded through the door.
When we all made our way down to the lower corridor of the building, we were instructed to drop to the floor immediately. The next thing I could see was the blackness of my eyelids. I was way too anxious to think straight. The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, obviously a teacher. Shortly afterwards, various conversations broke out among the students and teachers; quiet conversations. We were eventually told to head into the school’s Gymnasium when the staff was sure it was safe. I opened my eyes again, and got up to follow everybody else.
The Gym was as loud as the thunder outside it. Many were panicking, some were in the middle of long, irrelevant conversations in attempt to take their minds off the situation, and the rest of us had entered the large room and only just taken our seats on the rows of wooden bleachers. The dim lights turned the place into a starlit night. A female member of staff burst through the doors yelling “My car! It hit my car!”, interrupting all sound in the room briefly. The room stayed fairly quiet for a little while, albeit the teachers were whispering among each other. Everybody else joined in on the whispering instantly, until the level of audibility began to increase. I simply wept, wondering if I would ever get home safely, despite people reassuring me that I would.
As I witnessed many of my fellow pupils get picked up by their parents and buses, I became more and more concerned about myself. It was starting to seem like I was going to be the last one to leave the school. No more rushing teachers, no more rowdy kids. There was only a small few of us remaining. My eyes were focused on the doors, waiting for a familiar face. Another child had just been picked up, then another. Finally, my mother came through the double doors. I could go home and lie down at last.
It’s funny really. We had so many practise drills at my school, but I never would have believed there would actually ever be a real tornado.