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The Storm

Wind. Dirt. Pain. Repeat.

Wind. Dirt. Pain. Repeat.

The storm had gotten visibly worse. The wind whipped at her clothes, threatening to tear them from her frail body. Dirt sprayed around her, creating a small whirlwind of debris. Grime coated her, causing irritation to her porcelain skin. Pain shot through her legs which had turned numb some time ago. The sharpness of knives.


Water, she thought. Her tongue had turned the texture of sandpaper. She cried out in pain as her ankle caught on the root of a cactus plant, possibly the only other living thing out there. She stumbled into a pothole in the dry plain that seemed to have no end. She clutched her ankle, hoping, praying, that the pain would disperse soon enough. Lightening crackled in the sky, making a display of light as destructive as it was beautiful. She was scared. Vulnerable. A deer in an open field. The wind picked up, speeding like a racecar across the level expanse of land. Shivering. Her clothes were drenched in sweat and she pulled her knees to her chest, trying to preserve the warmth in her body that was diminishing ever so quickly.


The pain was too much. She could already feel herself loosing grasp of her consciousness. Her sanity. Her vision was blurred, outlined by a vignette of black. The storm. Would it stop? Would she survive to see the end? Unbearable. The pain was unbearable.


Wind. Dirt. Pain. Repeat.

Wind. Dirt. Pain. Repeat.


A bolt of pure electricity zigzagged its way through the dark sky, heading straight for her poor excuse of a safe haven.


Wind. Dirt. Pain. Repeat.


And then it all went black.



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