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Tropical storm.

by Natalia Baranova 2 years ago in nature

Hurricane season.

During that time, I didn't have much planned. I was sleeping late until I became bored with hitting snooze on my alarm. I spent all my time alone without a purpose or a place to be at.

Neither food nor drinks aroused my interest in going up and walking around my small studio. It was dark inside, my curtains were drawn, and I couldn't see out.

One day, I woke up feeling aware of my isolation; the walls were pushing in on me. I opened the windows to taste the salty breeze of the ocean.

I was alone, completely by myself. The sky had turned a baleful shade of grey-purple, and the wind bent the trees to obey it. Rising dust flew chaotically ignoring gravity, like monochrome noise on an old photograph. The buzzing of my phone, alerting a Flash Flood Warning, made my drowsiness disperse. It was torture to hear sounds that loud. When the thunder shook the ground, cold fear crawled under my skin: I felt like I needed to be held.

It wasn't the first tropical storm I'd seen, but it scared me nonetheless. I tried to get comfortable, pulled a long hoodie over my t-shirt, brewed a pot of hot tea with bergamot. Was I exaggerating? I gazed out of my window, searching for a distraction. My old, squeaky building was H-shaped. Due to the lack of a TV in my room, I tried to peer into my neighbour's window. He was watching a film; the blue light framed his mid-century sofa like a spaceship. But for some reason, I couldn't concentrate on his movie.

My attention was caught by the branches of an old oak tree that kept swinging its long, black, bony arms towards me. The minor chords of howling wind and cascades of cool crystal water on the glass created goosebumps on my skin. Twinkling streetlights covered green shivering leaves with yellow hues, illuminating their glossy skins. The luminous, slippery road was flooded with rain nectar, and passing silver cars got stuck in it like a row of tiny insects. Even if I had called my friends, they wouldn't have made it to me through the storm. The lightning cut through the sky, a white electrical whip. I hid my head under my pillow.

I felt so small, unprotected, like dandelion fluff that had been blown far away. When did I make a wrong turn? If I could choose to go back in time, would have I done anything differently?

My windows fogged; the temperature must have lowered outside. The landscape turned into a gloomy watercolour painting that nature had composed of green, blue, and grey strokes.

I remembered wanting to move to a different town when I was younger. I always missed the serenity of dense pine woods where you could walk around on crunchy old leaves and collect pinecones. I felt like I could smell the resin dripping on wet green moss; fresh amber juice was brighter than the gold, and I wanted to spread it on my nails to make them fancy and luxurious.

Suddenly I noticed that the water started rising. There was no doubt that the ground floor was getting flooded. I started picking up my possessions: books, shoes, a puzzle that I had never finished, some electrical cords. Everything I had been collecting throughout the last five years could fit into my closet.

When I was done organizing my treasures, I went back into my bed. Facing the wall, I covered myself with a pillow. My mind was ready to sail away to the Dreamland, and I closed my eyes tight.

Can I sleep forever?


About the author

Natalia Baranova

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