Thrive

Thunder pounds its fists upon the roof. Rain cries, flooding the flower pots outside. They shall surely drown, and die.

Sun curls under the empty basket. Sleeping sullen, so his beautiful fur is not soaked. He lays inside, oblivious to the screams outside. He dreams.

Skies darken as the grey dissipates. Rain shall soon stop, Thunder shall say goodbye.

Rain begins to settle, The blonde four-year-old stirs, her sleep slow. The whooping cough long passed. When she awakens she will see the emptiness outside.

She will surely cry.