Nahed

Yellow

The 12th of December 1986. Around midnight. That was when it happened. It was the darkest night of the year. Veils of black hung over the sky. Condensed clouds consumed the sky, the land, and everything in between; their shadow loomed over the world and blanketed the forest in a growing darkness that seemed almost unnatural with how it drained all colour from a usually green forest. The rain — a fusillade of needles— thudded on my window; it blurred the scene of the violent winds that hammered into vulnerable trees with the fury of an unyielding torrent, causing them to shiver and bend in their attempt to withstand the perpetually prodding predator.