false 9 139 101 true 5861232 read 4 true 2413047 currently-reading 34 true 2413046 to-read 0 false 7075767 love-to-read 0 false 7032396 next-to-read <![CDATA[Paul added 'The Shipping News']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/27139955 The Shipping News (Paperback) by Annie Proulx
bookshelves: currently-reading
]]> <![CDATA[Paul added 'Wolf Hall']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/77211606 to: Wolf Hall (Hardcover) by Hilary Mantel
]]> <![CDATA[Paul is on page 575 of Wolf Hall ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/77211606 Paul is on page 575 of 651 of Wolf Hall ]]> <![CDATA[new comment from Paul]]> http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/236438-week-25-november-6th-november-13th-story-contest-topic-weeping-done Paul made a comment in the Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! group:

Hi, this is my first story for this group, and I hope you like it. I have been a member for a while but haven’t had the guts to post something.

The storm by PAUL WOOD – WORD COUNT 1023.




THE STORM.

Molly is sitting outside on the porch, quietly reading her book when the storm starts. The first gentle spots of rain bounce on the dry tarmac inches from her unlaced sneakers. She listens intently to the peaceful drumming of the rain as it hits the plastic overhang above her head.
She is patiently waiting for her Dad to return. All afternoon she’d watches the day becoming darker; grey clouds floating lazily as they gather together to create a foreboding darkness. As she is getting to her feet the first rumble of thunder reverberates across the leaden sky. Inside she can hear her Mother moving about, pretending that today won’t happen. Molly knows her Mum’s scared; she’s trying to expel the pain with the whirl of the vacuum cleaner.
Molly understands scared. For Molly is scared of the storm. At the tender age of seven she can’t explain why. She is torn between racing for the covers of her Hannah Montana duvet, or facing the full fury of the approaching storm. It seems poetic justice that a storm is fast approaching upon this very day. Then another peal of thunder cascades down from the heavens above making the very ground shake. Seconds later the twilight heavens explode with an almighty flash. Molly screams as her eyes momentarily close against the intense glare.
In that brief second she remembers another storm and the night she’d lost Daddy. She remembers slamming doors, raised voices, the crack of thunder and the rain hammering against her window. She remembers the swirling wind blowing the tree against the windowpane; its branches scraping across the glass like a monster of nature trying to get to the little girl snuggled up in her bed. She looks over the covers with wild brown eyes and as the flash of lightening hits she witnesses Daddy’s shadow moving across the hallway. She wants him to brush his prickly face against hers. She likes the smell of his skin, like exotic oil. Sometimes his breath smells of beer and alcohol as he plants a tender kiss on her forehead. But this night she can only watch as his arched shadow weaves and stumbles down the staircase, his voice slurry as he curses. Afraid, she buries her head deep in the warmth of the bed. Somewhere in the distance she hears a door slam and what sounds like something thrown onto the driveway.
That night he hadn’t whispered ‘I love you’ and kissed her goodnight. That was the night that the storm wanted and needed her Dad. Climbing out of her bed she had tiptoed to the window and watched Dad disappear into the ensuring storm
Then she remembers why she hates the storm. The storm stole Daddy from her. Another clap of thunder announces itself. Only this one is closer then before.
Screaming she burst through the doorway, her tiny feet pounding the wooden floor before Claire, her mother grabs her, carrying her into her arms.
‘Pumpkin, what’s wrong?’
‘It’s the storm. The storms coming to take me away like it did Daddy!’ she manages to blurt out, before bursting into tears.
‘Don’t be silly honey, its just a storm,’ she whispers into her ear. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of.’ Just as she says this a gigantic crack of thunder shakes the house.
Launching herself out of her mothers arms she runs up the staircase just as another flash of lightening lights the whole house up with dazzling brightness. Suddenly there is a bang and the house is plunged into darkness. From the top of the stairs Claire can see the misshapen form of her daughter. Even from here she can feel her fear and taste her tears. She knows what fear is like, but it isn’t the storm she’s frightened off. It’s something much more scary and real.
When she arrives in her daughter’s room she witness her huddled up under the duvet. Everything looks dark and menacing in the half-light.
‘When’s Daddy coming home?’ she asks. ‘I want Daddy to make the storm disappear,’ she says disappearing deeper into the bed. ‘I don’t like the thunder, it makes me scared.’
‘Its just God moving his furniture around honey,’ she says, gently stroking her innocent face.
‘And what about when it rains?’ she asks her mother.
‘That’s easy. That’s when God is weeping about things he sees down on Earth,’
‘God shouldn’t be so sad mum,’
‘Sometimes people weep because they’re happy as well as sad,’ she explains
‘When the storm stole Daddy was you weeping because you were happy or sad Mummy?’ she asks, raising herself up.
‘That’s too many questions for a young lady. Now then you can help me find some candles and I’ll read you some good stories from your favourite books. What do you say?’
‘Well all right, but I’m staying here and waiting for Daddy. I just know he be coming soon,’ she says turning back to the window. Outside the rain is easing as she peers into the early evening gloom. ‘Mummy look!’ Molly shrieks
‘What is it?’ Claire asks, joining her at the rain splattered window.
‘It’s a rainbow. Look at the colours, isn’t it pretty. It’s a sign Mummy, that God isn’t angry with the world anymore.’
They both look at the rainbow, its vivid colours of gold, blue, red, orange sparkling and washing away the dreary storm. Already a bright shaft of sunlight is forcing its way through the cluster of grey clouds.
‘Mummy, Daddy’s coming!’
While Molly bounded on the bed like a trampoline, before racing down the stairs two at a time in her haste Claire watched the figure approach.
His suit was soaked to the skin, a battered hat upon his head. His umbrella hung limp at his side like an unkempt dog.
Glancing up at the window he smiles. It is a smile that banished all the dark clouds out of the sky. It is a smile that made the pavement shine with hope and happiness. As she descended the stairs she thought if only life could be as simple as the sun coming out after the storm.
]]> <![CDATA[Paul added 'The Brutal Art']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/53388655 The Brutal Art (Paperback) by Jesse Kellerman
]]> <![CDATA[Paul added 'Burning Bright']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/44970368 Burning Bright (Paperback) by Tracy Chevalier
]]> <![CDATA[Paul added 'Brass Man']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/70391135 Brass Man (Paperback) by Neal Asher
bookshelves: to-read
]]> <![CDATA[Paul added 'The Brass Verdict']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/73228583 to: The Brass Verdict (Mickey Haller, #2) by Michael Connelly
]]> <![CDATA[Paul added 'London Fields']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/73228228 to: London Fields (Paperback) by Martin Amis
]]> <![CDATA[Paul added 'The Rose of Sebastopol']]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/73515540 to: The Rose of Sebastopol (Paperback) by Katharine McMahon
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