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Storm


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We stood there, staring at a singular object, the point of this gathering, with the wind blowing through all our different styles of hair, shaking our clothes and dresses back and forth, causing the near-invisible strands of hair across the span of our arms and legs to shoot up and remain stiff. The sky was grey, clouds slowly and majestically rolling across the blue earth, and it was safe to assume rain would commence sooner or later. Gusts of shivering wind and salty wind was included into the atmosphere, carrying atomic pockets of drops of water with its blow, sprinkling each and every one of us slightly. We were all cold, I was cold, but nobody really cared, and I cared less than anybody.

The stormy sky led to stormy seas, the waves crashed onto the large formation of shining rocks. The water coming into contact with the stones sounded like thunder, and let out an ocean rain. There was a storm on the ground and a storm above. My thoughts felt like a storm too. Everything resembled a storm; everything resembled the untraceable bombardment of various objects and items or the disturbance of peace and order. Everything, this whole current point in time, was sudden, strong, and a mess. I wouldn’t let my eyes off the center of attention: the gold-painted box that must have weighed fifty pounds. It was on top of one of the rocks, but it was shielded from the waves given that other larger formations surrounded it. But the waves still crashed and the sky was drizzling and everyone and everything was still slightly damp. The waves slammed into the boulders another time, causing another thunder, the noise reverberating throughout the air. The ocean was a deep blue. I’ve never seen the water this clear and clean before. Usually, during summer parties or regrettable dares as others and I went to the beach the water there has some green tint and bits of seaweed and other particles floating within. This water wasn’t like that. This water was smooth, and simply blue, like the sky. The sea resembled the sky.

I shifted my feet. The pebbles below me sank into others, causing a small mudslide of rocks. The ground was similar to gravel, but the grains of stone here were actually minerals with a larger yet still small radius. Out in the sea were the large white boats that swayed with the sea storm. The boats the wealthy people of Newport owned. I took a quick glance around out of curiosity. I took a quick glance around to see if the gold-painted box was still a matter of attention. At the other end of the beach, a stone stairway lead to a strip green, mowed grass, which, after a few steps, was just one side of the black paved road. Everyone, man, woman, and child was no longer focusing on the gold-painted box. They were all looking at me and the two people beside me.

I glanced briefly at the two beside me. One was twenty-five, turning twenty-six in three days. He had a faint beard; the small black strands stuck no more than a centimeter out of his chin, cheeks, and upper lip. His nose was small, his face round, and before walking into the wind his hair was slightly greased and even more slightly pushed back. He wore a plaid shirt, white and black stripes. His sleeves were rolled up, and his pants and shoes were black with faint but visible grey-colored stains scattered about. The other was twenty-two, turning twenty-three on January first. She wore a short brown leather-textured dress that went to a little above her knees. Her arms weren’t covered, but strands of her frizzed ginger hair touched her shoulders lightly. Her nose was slightly longer than the man beside me, and she had many orange and brown freckles that stretched all around her face and body. I glanced to the ground. I wore Adidas sneakers, black with blue marks. I had khakis and an excuse of a dress shirt on. Didn’t really matter, this meeting was intentionally informal. Us three were standing the closest to the gold-painted box. All the others were at least a couple yards apart, keeping their distance out of respect and understanding. They had feelings, but this meeting wasn’t about them, this meeting was about me, the two beside me, and the gold-painted box that stood on the pedestal of the wet rock.

We three had one piece of appearance in common. Salty tears dripped from the corners of our eyes, gliding slowly onto our cheek, settling for a few moments, and dropping to the pebble floor. The air was salty, our eyes were salty, the sea was stormy, the sky was stormy, and our thoughts were stormy. Waves crashed onto the outer stone formation, sending thousands of thin drops arcing into the air and landing onto everyone and everything, including the gold-painted box. The whole earth was wet and salty. Another crash was heard, but this time it was from above. It began to drizzle, and although everyone was becoming even more wet and more uncomfortable from having their skin damp and irritable, no one cared. The whole world was crying.

I stared at the gold-painted box that must have weighed fifty pounds. It was on top of one of the rocks, but it was shielded from the waves given that other larger formations surrounded it. Circum-navigating the gold-painted box was a pile of white and pink flowers, each given by one of the people attending this meeting, including myself and my brother and my sister. I stared at the gold-painted box. A tear rolled down my cheek.




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