M. Fritz. Wunderli
I love storytelling and the transformative process it brings for both readers and writers. I hope my stories have that same effect.
Check out my Instagram page- @vunderwrites.
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Storm Born 3
Scars from the storm marred the valley. Wreckage littered fields, the lake, and the streets of the small town. Entire swaths of trees were felled, thick boughs ripped away and tossed hundreds of feet into the air. Gutters and shingles torn from rooftops scattered across neighborhoods. Shattered glass from storefront windows glittered like confetti. The flooding hardly retreated, still drowning the roads and overwhelming sewers.
Thunderbolts rained down on the town. Their fury brought with them torrential rain and violent winds, ripping limbs from trees and whipping debris into the air. The sky cracked with every blinding strike. Gray clouds murmured and grumbled, and gathered into angry swaths of pent-up energy forking and branching with blue electricity.
Lightning runs in his veins. Elmer Daughtry reclined in his ratty recliner, an ice pack strapped to his aching shoulder. Another was set on his right knee. Creosote wafted throughout the small cabin, soaked into the tattered curtains, the fabric of the sofa, and even the grunge carpet. A thick cigar sat perched on a crystal ashtray, lit but untouched otherwise. The smoke snaked its way into the air, where it eventually dispersed. Elmer gave up smoking a long time ago, but like a man who gives up bread, he still loved the familiar and tantalizing aroma. He took every chance he could get just to smell the old, leatherwood for a few minutes.