Relief was the kettle on, the hush before the boil, the soft promise of solitude. Two hours with The Tornado had turned her well-kept house into a tempest’s wreckage—Hummel figurines queued for passage on Grandma’s Ark, the wooden boat her father had carved. Colouring pencils scattered like fallen wands. Trinkets misplaced, waiting to be found before the storm touched down again next weekend. Love and chaos, hand in hand.
The hoomans left, and the house is mine! Next thing you know, the curtains are ripped, the lamp knocked over, papers flying like confetti and cabinets hanging on for dear life. The front door opens and I hear a gasp. “What happened?!”
I blinked innocently. “A tornado came through. I barely escaped!”
A ceiling lamp came crashing down behind me.
The hoomans sighed, “You had the zoomies again, didn’t ya?”
Wyatt watched in astonishment and terror as amethyst clouds swallowed the bright blue sky. Violet raindrops peppered his acne-scarred face; an amethyst funnel touched down, tearing up maple trees, boulders, and logs. Stones sliced his cheeks; he slapped his hands against the sides of his head to drown out the screeching. Wyatt remained frozen as the purple monster got closer. A moss-covered boulder hurdled toward him like a burning comet.
you know - I wrote a microfiction called tornado om monday, and I am absolutely CERTAIN it was before this prompt was posted, because I couldn't find the thread to post it and I was thinking I must have dreamt it...and then....
We could sense it brewing, tension mounting. Would it blow itself out move away or unleash havoc upon us? The curtains began to move, the inevitable approached. Suddenly it filled the room. Mad hell unleashed. We screamed, but to no avail! The ginger cat was now an unstoppable force, a bulging eyed frenzy of fur flying round and round and round.
Odd fluffy white clouds were scattered in a perfect blue sky. We sat in t-shirts on the roof of the Ford. The silver jet came silently up the runway towards us banking steeply as it reached the edge of the car park throwing a rich orange flame of after-burn in its wake.
The woman cupped her hands tightly over her young daughter's ears as the Tornado thundered its supersonic blast.
A threat is approaching at high speed. People can see the approaching gray giant in the background. They try to run away, but the giant is faster, more agile and more destructive. No one can stop this brutal force. Peter didn't run away. He's filming everything. Ever since he was a little boy, he's loved filming tornadoes. What he doesn't know is that the end of the world is coming
I woke up to find the world rearranged—again. A political tornado had torn through, flinging rights, laws, and common sense into the wind like wayward cows. One moment, things made some sense; the next, I was dodging flaming executive orders and moral hypocrisy falling from the sky. I clutched my sign—"FIGHT FOR DEMOCRACY"—and braced myself. Because this storm wasn’t passing. It was just getting started.
The room was filled with unfocused attendees. As she went through the slides, they started paying more and more attention to their phones and the snacks. She had to keep presenting them out of respect for her teammates’ efforts. She cursed mentally as she saw walls of words on the screen.
Sipping her water, she continued with the next slide.
A tornado chart appeared. A sight she’d been longing for.
Yes, it's 5.50 am when I drafted this. Might as well before the idea disappeared in the cluttered brain :D. Do you believe me if I say it takes longer time to find inspiration when drafting this at 10 pm? :P
Huddled within a cave, made by ancient volcanos, Freya’s baby slept contently under her protective wing. She listened to the tornado as it whistled a lullaby outside.
The frail humans feared everything of true strength. They saw only the devastation.
I walked into a kitchen that looked like a tornado had passed through.
Every inch of space was covered in something. Our cupboards had been emptied. There were things tossed haphazardly. A mixer was upside down on the counter, its beaters whirling, heaving cake mix. There was cake mix stuck on the ceiling.
I looked over at my lovely bride.
“I wanted to bake you a birthday cake,” she cried.
"And Oh, Auntie Em, there's no place like home." With that final classic line, Gail shut off the television. The children had fallen asleep long before the poisoned poppies and the horse-of-many-colors, but Gail never stopped the movie until it was over and Dorothy was safely home. That night she would dream of yellow bricks and a frail old man behind a curtain as swirling winds tore through her neighborhood.
Dear lady, screaming at your child, I wish you understood what I know, for the storm brewing in your breast lives within my heart, too. If you fan the winds of abuse, your sweet girl's sorrow will grow into a tornado, destroying herself and all she loves, infecting your grandchildren and great grandchildren and on and on... You must quell the hateful wind or she'll grow up just like you.
Fortunately for me, my mother was/is NOT an abuser (she's a saint!). My pain grew out from other sources... Unfortunately, I saw this happening in the grocery store yesterday, and I knew intervention would only cause more abuse later when they got home. I know it's hard to deal with kids sometimes, but it's so important to remember what seeds can be planted by a few vicious words. 😥
Thank you. Whenever I see scenes like this unfolding in public, I have to remind myself that the parent probably recieved the same sad lessons in childhood. I remember a Matt Groening strip from "Childhood is Hell" from the '80s that described child abuse as a giant game of pass along and he's right - unless someone is lucky and/or strong enough to break the cycle, the next generation is doomed, too. 😥
When I watch my mum with the grandkids -
Relief was the kettle on, the hush before the boil, the soft promise of solitude. Two hours with The Tornado had turned her well-kept house into a tempest’s wreckage—Hummel figurines queued for passage on Grandma’s Ark, the wooden boat her father had carved. Colouring pencils scattered like fallen wands. Trinkets misplaced, waiting to be found before the storm touched down again next weekend. Love and chaos, hand in hand.
The hoomans left, and the house is mine! Next thing you know, the curtains are ripped, the lamp knocked over, papers flying like confetti and cabinets hanging on for dear life. The front door opens and I hear a gasp. “What happened?!”
I blinked innocently. “A tornado came through. I barely escaped!”
A ceiling lamp came crashing down behind me.
The hoomans sighed, “You had the zoomies again, didn’t ya?”
I love your “hooman" stories! 🐱
Haha yay!!! Happy that you like them hehe
“Tornado”
Wyatt watched in astonishment and terror as amethyst clouds swallowed the bright blue sky. Violet raindrops peppered his acne-scarred face; an amethyst funnel touched down, tearing up maple trees, boulders, and logs. Stones sliced his cheeks; he slapped his hands against the sides of his head to drown out the screeching. Wyatt remained frozen as the purple monster got closer. A moss-covered boulder hurdled toward him like a burning comet.
you know - I wrote a microfiction called tornado om monday, and I am absolutely CERTAIN it was before this prompt was posted, because I couldn't find the thread to post it and I was thinking I must have dreamt it...and then....
And you had the disappearing post earlier. Yep, this Stack is definitely haunted! 👻
We could sense it brewing, tension mounting. Would it blow itself out move away or unleash havoc upon us? The curtains began to move, the inevitable approached. Suddenly it filled the room. Mad hell unleashed. We screamed, but to no avail! The ginger cat was now an unstoppable force, a bulging eyed frenzy of fur flying round and round and round.
Good take on the prompt! 🐈 😂
he gets a mad half hour on sometimes... curtains are a disaster...
But the humans and critters are happy, so all is well.
ooooh - who's been a bad boy then!
Tornado - 70 (-ish) words
.
Dawn.
Nails. Hammer. Boards. Planks. Saw.
.
Together.
Measuring. Cutting. Lifting. Fitting. Banging. Checking.
.
Repeat.
.
(Leave back door till last.)
.
Walk around. Check again.
Inside. Dark. Doomy.
Essentials - packed.
.
Back door shut & boarded.
.
Bunker open.
.
Dog in. Backpack in.
.
Hatch shut.
.
Torches - check.
Radio - check.
Phone - check.
.
Smiles - grim. Hands - held. Breathe.
.
Count.
Two humans.
One dog.
No fear.
.
Not yet.
im so glad I live where we have never got tornados....yet
Shhhh.... don't tempt fate!
Odd fluffy white clouds were scattered in a perfect blue sky. We sat in t-shirts on the roof of the Ford. The silver jet came silently up the runway towards us banking steeply as it reached the edge of the car park throwing a rich orange flame of after-burn in its wake.
The woman cupped her hands tightly over her young daughter's ears as the Tornado thundered its supersonic blast.
My 70 words of a Tornado
___________________________
A threat is approaching at high speed. People can see the approaching gray giant in the background. They try to run away, but the giant is faster, more agile and more destructive. No one can stop this brutal force. Peter didn't run away. He's filming everything. Ever since he was a little boy, he's loved filming tornadoes. What he doesn't know is that the end of the world is coming
Aha! I went for the plane too.
I woke up to find the world rearranged—again. A political tornado had torn through, flinging rights, laws, and common sense into the wind like wayward cows. One moment, things made some sense; the next, I was dodging flaming executive orders and moral hypocrisy falling from the sky. I clutched my sign—"FIGHT FOR DEMOCRACY"—and braced myself. Because this storm wasn’t passing. It was just getting started.
Oh very clever take. I'm going to hold that image as I read the news
Microdosing Fiction - 70mg of a Tornado
===
The room was filled with unfocused attendees. As she went through the slides, they started paying more and more attention to their phones and the snacks. She had to keep presenting them out of respect for her teammates’ efforts. She cursed mentally as she saw walls of words on the screen.
Sipping her water, she continued with the next slide.
A tornado chart appeared. A sight she’d been longing for.
Aren’t you little early today? 👀
Yes, it's 5.50 am when I drafted this. Might as well before the idea disappeared in the cluttered brain :D. Do you believe me if I say it takes longer time to find inspiration when drafting this at 10 pm? :P
I mean, my brain doesn’t work at all in the morning so I believe you 100% :D
Huddled within a cave, made by ancient volcanos, Freya’s baby slept contently under her protective wing. She listened to the tornado as it whistled a lullaby outside.
The frail humans feared everything of true strength. They saw only the devastation.
Freya knew better, and could be patient.
It might take centuries.
In the future…
One day…
Dragons will rule again!
yay - bring back the dragons - we need some fire breathing to clean out some of the dank monsters we have here right now...
Thank you for not only reading but your warm comments
Thanks for the comment, I sadly agree
I walked into a kitchen that looked like a tornado had passed through.
Every inch of space was covered in something. Our cupboards had been emptied. There were things tossed haphazardly. A mixer was upside down on the counter, its beaters whirling, heaving cake mix. There was cake mix stuck on the ceiling.
I looked over at my lovely bride.
“I wanted to bake you a birthday cake,” she cried.
this is so true.....of when I cook anything.... especially chinese food....so many bowls....so many
Love it. I was expecting it to be a teenager
that's me in the kitchen 😭
Sounds like my kitchen when I cook!
On occasion it describes ours too!
Oh I like that! I was beginning to wonder if a bear had broken into your kitchen. 😂
All I recall are soup cans, spiralling;
toothpaste tornados; gaping jaws;
flip-book flashes of freckled limbs;
crazy out-of-control carousels.
I’ve been told my brother and I threw
some pretty apocalyptic tantrums;
think about that every now-and-then:
how she was the eye inside
every storm I ever conjured -
that diamond ring
gouging accidental rivers;
rigid-armed rejections -
wombing me back to flesh
to ferry me over sliding
supermarket doors:
cloudburst but landfallen.
amazing imagery. really strong!
Thanks Nick - hope you're keeping well!
Brought a tear to my eye. I want a mum like that
MY heart goes out to you Diane - the world would be a much better place if there were more mums like that - thanks for your comment - very touching.
70 mg of a Tornado
"And Oh, Auntie Em, there's no place like home." With that final classic line, Gail shut off the television. The children had fallen asleep long before the poisoned poppies and the horse-of-many-colors, but Gail never stopped the movie until it was over and Dorothy was safely home. That night she would dream of yellow bricks and a frail old man behind a curtain as swirling winds tore through her neighborhood.
thanks for the shout out!!
Dear lady, screaming at your child, I wish you understood what I know, for the storm brewing in your breast lives within my heart, too. If you fan the winds of abuse, your sweet girl's sorrow will grow into a tornado, destroying herself and all she loves, infecting your grandchildren and great grandchildren and on and on... You must quell the hateful wind or she'll grow up just like you.
deep. This gets a "RIGHTEOUS" from me.
Thank you! A Nick Winney Righteous is a wonderful reward! 😊
"You must quell the hateful wind or she'll grow up just like you." This...
This one of yours is great Jeannine, and far, far more important than any of my frivolous mashie-niblicks.
It almost reads like one of those very old pieces of wisdom that gets handed down through the generations. It's wonderfully written.
Thank you. Unfortunately, it's wisdom learned. ( but NOT, I repeat, taught by my own lovely mother - she was a well of infinite patience!).
Your "frivolous mashie-niblicks" are very important, though. We all need to laugh to stay sane! 😉
Yes, absolutely. Laughter is so very therapeutic!
lotta truth there
Fortunately for me, my mother was/is NOT an abuser (she's a saint!). My pain grew out from other sources... Unfortunately, I saw this happening in the grocery store yesterday, and I knew intervention would only cause more abuse later when they got home. I know it's hard to deal with kids sometimes, but it's so important to remember what seeds can be planted by a few vicious words. 😥
Oomph. Love this. Hard learnt lesson. That often takes generations to turn …
Thank you. Whenever I see scenes like this unfolding in public, I have to remind myself that the parent probably recieved the same sad lessons in childhood. I remember a Matt Groening strip from "Childhood is Hell" from the '80s that described child abuse as a giant game of pass along and he's right - unless someone is lucky and/or strong enough to break the cycle, the next generation is doomed, too. 😥
So very true...