Rage

• Jessamie Rowe, Grade 11, Meridian School -
• Short Story
• 2019

Excellence Award in the 'Just Keep Writing 2019' competition

The wind howled miserably, wailing through the trees like an unseen terror. Thin trees bowed to the sodden ground, worshipping Mother Nature, their leaves whirling through the air, dancing on invisible threads. Heavy rain pelted against the window panes, leaving wet trails like tears on a child’s cheek. Lightning cracked the sky in two, lighting the blackened world for mere seconds, sending shivers down every spine.
On the edge of a mysterious forest in north east Thailand, a small house sat, creaking in the violent wind. It was surrounded by a neglected flower bed and a thin gravel path that wound its way to a broken once white picket fence that bordered the property. The house was sheltered by a row of straggly fig trees, but right now they were useless. Dull, wooden shutters slammed painfully against the house, as a dead branch scratched against the rusty tin roof like fingers on a chalkboard. A small brown face appeared in a window, disbelief and horror showing on her grubby human-like face.
Her deep lilac eyes widened as they took in everything, trees falling as though flicked by the cruel finger of a giant, the wind tearing everything up with a fury not known to man. She watched as her temporary world fell apart before her eyes, the one almost constant thing in her life, was now possessed by an unspeakable terror. Wrenching her eyes from the horrific scene before her, she turned, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. The others were coming for her; her time was running out. She knew that this was the final storm, the one where they take her life from her. She had come from them, but now she had to return. When she was younger she lived in Mybthsalem, a foreign kingdom hidden in the sky, she was sent to Earth to change human ways. But she had failed and now she must pay.
She looked down at her hands, young but worn from years of labour. Clenching them into fists she raised her head, eyes turning as black as obsidian. She strode forward, determination in her every step.
Flinging open the solid door, she winced as the wind whipped her raven black hair across her face. Stepping out into the war zone, she was attacked viciously from every side. Her eyes narrowed, and she curled her toes into the mud to steady herself. She drew in a ragged breath, the harsh air burning her parched throat. Whispered voices came on the wind, calling out to her, 'Busarakham, your time has come'. Invisible hands wrapped around her thin body, crippling her. She crumbled to the ground, the life sucking out of her. With her last breath, she let out an unearthly scream, louder than the wind, more frightening than death. It echoed through the valley, howling like the cry of a Banshee. In its wake, the rain stopped, the clouds parted and all that was left was silence.