The Tornado

The room was torn apart by the man who turned into a tornado. He paced the now poorly lit living room with heavy feet,

thump, thud,

thump, thud,

thump, thud,

aggressively back and forth and back and forth, his turns matching the sway of the pendulum in his great-grandfather’s clock,

clunk, tick, clunk,

clunk, tick, clunk.

His ragged breath thinned the air of the room. He teetered like a drunk tight-rope walker on a line of panic. His chest dramatically coming up and then falling with each half second, with a sharp inhale and exaggerated exhale. He didn’t dare look down at his daughter that was sitting in a corner on the floor, curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees...

Her face remained emotionless while tears poured from her ducts and down her scorching cheeks. She starred out with dispiritedness at what he had done to their living room, her body giving in to the exhaustion from the tumultuous fight. The coffee table had been flipped, the glassware from their dinner had been shattered on the hardwood floor, unfinished food littered about, the bulb from the overhead light had been broken and the TV screen was warped from the blunt object that was casted into it. All that illuminated the room was a lamp on the side table that stood still in the commotion, like a lighthouse that braves heavy winds and angry waves. Pieces of glass crunched under his work boots, scoring the wood floor as he continued to pace.

Slowly, the cloud of anger lifted, clearing his vision. His eyes darted circles, squares and triangles in their sockets as they absorbed the damage surrounding him and provoking the stint of anger to fully evaporate from his body. All that was left was shame, embarrassment, and the empty flesh of a stunted man.

A loud gasp forced its way from his soul, catching the attention of his daughter. The sound that leaped from her father's lungs sounded like it scratched his heart on its way out. For a moment she felt bad for him. She finally looked up and saw him hunched forward in defeat, his eyes now welling with tears. Her father felt her tender focus on him and began sobbing hysterically. He ran over and collapsed onto his knee in front of her, unable to form a voice. His daughter's compassion withered away the instant she realized she would not receive an apology for his behavior.

Her eyes hovered underneath her thick furrowed brows, nostrils flared, holding the stance of a tree, no longer allowing another single tear to drop from her golden-brown eyes. He tried to place a gentle hand on her shoulder but was met with a jerk of her arm causing her father to lose strength in the muscles that keep his spine upright and falling forward, wallowing and gasping with each inhale. She closed her body off and crossed her arms. He felt her movement and looked up at her, searching for acceptance and forgiveness in her eyes.

There was none.

When she struck herself from the floor, he fell backwards, catching himself with his hands. His head bobbed in an air of confusion as she hovered over him, arms still crossed, wide-legged stance. She opened her mouth, only to pin it shut with downturned lips. He reached his hand up in hopes that she would let go of her sour feelings and forgive him as she's always done. Instead, she stepped over his body and left the room, leaving him to fester with his shadows. He stayed on the ground, a couple tears still trickling down, mouth agape, hand still outreached.

"Things will never be the same after this." They both thought.