Hundred-mile winds vandalized Tobago, calling on
ocean and rainstorm to join in the battering of coast and hillside.
Frightened residents dodged galvanize roofs and splintered plywood that
had once been their meagre homes. Livestock washed out to sea in a
medley of alarmed bleats and squawks. Majestic palms fell like
matchsticks, dragging the power lines with them.
So went the poetic litany of destruction on the evening news in the
summer of 1980, crackling over an ancient transistor radio.
“What the hell they know about anything? Lady Flora come to collect she
dues,” Paulette sobbed, clutching her infant daughter tight as three
sharp reports of thunder echoed overhead.
Swaddled in blankets against her mother’s breast, baby Lucille slept,
oblivious. To Paulette, it sounded like the banshees from the cemetery
had gone loose but these walls were concrete. They would be safe here.
She and other women in her community had taken their children and come
to the church as soon as the hurricane announcement had come on the
radio. She had begged Cecil to come with them but he had refused to
leave.
“Nuttin’ chasin’me outta me house,” he had declared.
“I hope Cecil all right,” Paulette prayed.
At that moment, Cecil stood waist-deep in a crater of muddy water that
used to be his home, trying to grab at his possessions as they drifted
away. He saw one of his daughter’s toys and reached for it. It would
amuse her in days to come, he thought grimly. When Lady Flora took
herself outta here, God willing, he and Paulette would have to start
from scratch.
Floating carcasses were all that was left of his chickens and cows and
he’d watched from the roof of the house, before it too had become
flotsam, as his fishing boat tore from the jetty to be lost in the muddy
torrent. everything they owned was gone.
He put the toy into a salvaged garbage bag with the other items he had
saved and sloshed in the direction of the church, concentrating on
staying upright and holding on to the garbage bag. The wind was pushing
towards him, the rain pelted twigs and debris in his face, but he
continued on, determined to join his family. He stared hard at the
church spires standing strong amidst the chaos.
We, too, will rise again, Cecil vowed.
(c) Kristy Kassie, 2016
Read feedback on All That's Left is Grit.
Read the microfiction version published on 101 words (May 2017) and called The Hurricane.
Nature can play an important part in a story. Beyond describing the setting, nature can influence the actions and attitudes of characters or determine the events in a story.