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A Stormy Afternoon Alone

 

It was a warm Saturday afternoon. I was home alone, as my parents had gone to visit my grandmother. Having just completed my school project, I decided to unwind on the veranda outside my room. The sky above was a clear, brilliant blue, scattered with white, puffy clouds drifting lazily across. Though there was no sign of rain, I felt sticky all over, even though the fan had been blowing at full blast earlier.

Suddenly, I heard a faint rumble of thunder in the distance. A small squirrel darted up the tree beside the veranda, distracting me from the ominous sound. But soon, the low rumble grew louder and more distinct. A little uneasy, I went downstairs and told the maid to bring in the laundry, just in case the weather turned.

Without warning, the sky darkened. Angry grey clouds rushed across the horizon, swallowing the sunlight in a matter of minutes. A sudden gust of cold wind whooshed past me, stinging my cheeks. The breeze quickly became a strong wind, whipping the blinds on the veranda and sending shivers down my spine.

As I stood to return to my room, a pale flash of lightning streaked across the sky, casting eerie shadows along the veranda walls. Moments later, thunder roared overhead, as if the sky itself were groaning in protest. The whole house creaked and moaned, reacting to the fury outside.

Then I saw it—a white curtain of rain sweeping rapidly across the neighborhood. Within seconds, it reached the corrugated iron roof above me, pounding it with such force that it rattled and groaned under the pressure.

The storm was nothing short of ferocious. Trees in the garden bent under the weight of the rain, their branches swaying wildly. My mother's beloved flowers were being torn from their stems and scattered to the ground. I tried turning on the radio to distract myself, but the roar of the rain was so loud that it drowned out every sound. Defeated, I lay on my bed and waited for the storm to pass.

For nearly an hour, the thunderstorm raged on. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it died down. The rain eased into a gentle drizzle. The black clouds slowly drifted away, and the sky turned blue once more.

Curious, I stepped into the garden to assess the damage. Many of the flowers were flattened, and a few branches had snapped. Puddles of water dotted the lawn, and the stone slabs were slick but inviting. As I walked among them, I breathed in the fresh, rain-washed air. It was cool, crisp, and clean—as if the downpour had scrubbed the world of all its dust and weariness.

Just as I was about to peek over into my neighbor’s garden to see if they had suffered similar damage, the shrill ring of the telephone startled me. My maid called out—it was my mother, checking in to see if I was all right.

I smiled to myself. The storm had passed, and so had the fear. Everything was calm once more.

 
 
 
 

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