Red ribbons fluttered in the breeze heralding the approach of the storm.

We lashed down what we could before the category five nightmare was upon us.

In the basement we were physically secure, but in mental agony as the sound of a supersonic express train drove through our ears.

Eventually, the calm descended to an eerie bird less scene that crept before us in the brightening morning. One by one the survivors emerged to their shattered world; shaken and numb.

And then there was Brian. Outside his collapsed outhouse he was stoking the embers of his favourite pastime.

‘You lot on for a barbecue?’ he hollered.

About Lindsay Craik

Writer & Poet Poetry, plays and short stories
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