The Storm

The Storm 

The rain battered against the windows and doors, demanding to gain entrance.  The shadows of the leafless branches swayed in the driving winds, their skeletal arms performing a dance of the dead.  Lightening illuminated the world and thunder shook the earth - Mother Nature's equivalent to shining a spotlight on the players and giving a standing ovation.  There was no visible life outside.  Just echoes of the storm and whispers from the grave.

They had been prepared for this night their entire lives.  Their mother spoke of it with reverence, and told them how lucky they were to witness this miracle.  "Do you know how fortunate we are, children?" she would say.  "This is a gift.  This is an honor." She would speak in hushed tones, to convey the seriousness of the night. 

Since the twins birth, they were brought up to believe that they were the Chosen.  They were told time and again that when the storm approached on the eve of their 12th birthday, all would see what their Mother had always known.  They were not like all of those little brats running around the seaside town.  They were more than the bastard children of a woman who found herself pregnant after a drunken one-night stand.  No.  They were Chosen.  They were better than all of those other creatures that sat in school, with their shiny white sneakers and their designer jeans.  They were above material things.  They were above everything.

The storm raged on and their mother took out the battered book of poetry and rhymes that they each knew by heart.  The three sat in the flickering glow of the candlelight reciting each verse, as if an incantation:

I am not of this world, I am of the sea

My father is King and watches over thee

One day he will come, to reclaim what he owns

In a storm of great strength, and a rattling of bones 

My father the King will look down from his height

Casting a curse that will rage most the night

He will gather us children, and save us from strife

My father the King will give us new life.

The verses were read with the solemnity of a religious service.  Both children were hopeful and excited, but took great care not to show their mother their joy.  For "Joy", she had always reminded them, "was nothing but giving in to your weaknesses.  Joy is for fools.  You are the children of Kings, and no King wants a fool for a child."  The children were expected to appreciate their good fortune, but not to show happiness with it.  "Royalty is not happy to be royal," she would chastise, "Royalty knows it deserves its place.  To show happiness would mean you don't truly feel you belong in the Kingdom.  We can't have that."

**** 

The storm raged on and there was a knocking at the door.  The three of them looked at each other with apprehensive glances - this wasn't how they were to be given life.  A knock on the door was never in the tale. 

The Mother opened the door cautiously, carrying the candle and leaving the chain lock on the door.  Through the crack, their neighbor appeared.  A gentleman who can only be described as "round".  He was one of the only people who spoke to the family of his own free will.  He was kind, but the mother distrusted anyone who was kind.  "Yes?"  The mother asked, in an annoyed tone.  "I was just making sure you and the kids were safe, Ma’am.", said the neighbor.  "It's one heck of a storm and it looks like the sea is rising fast.  If you'd like some company and some hot food, my wife was able to make dinner right before the electricity went out.  There's more than enough and we'd love to see you."  He peeked through the small crack in the door, "I know these types of storms can scare the kids."  The mother swallowed hard and tried to hide her displeasure at the interruption.  "Thank you Mr. Shielding.  We are doing just fine.  Best you get home now to your wife and make sure she's safe and secure."  Without another word, the Mother slammed the door and slipped the deadlock in to place. 

****

 The storm raged all night.  The candle was quickly losing its flame and they had not another to light.  As the light waned, the last thing the children saw was the time on the windup alarm clock that read 11:11pm.  It wasn't much longer now, they both thought.  Instinctively reaching for each other's hands.

**** 

September 14, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  In an unexplained and tragic scene, the bodies of two boys, aged 12 years old, were found on the beach in this small seaside community of Monarch, Massachusetts.  Due to their age, the names and details have not yet been released to the press.  During the storm that ravaged the coastline last evening on September 13, it appears these boys might have been playing in the surf when the water overcame them.  More details to follow in the coming days.  Mr. Shielding, a neighbor, can account for their safety around 8:00pm, during the night of the storm

September 21, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  More details are emerging about the two boys who were assumed to have drowned during the storm on September 13th.  The coroner’s office has issued a statement indicating that the boys death was not due to drowning.  The apparent cause of death was a deep and fatal slash to both boys' throats.   There are no suspects at this time; however investigators have not yet been able to locate the boy’s mother.

 September 25, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  The police have issued an arrest warrant for the mother of the two slain boys, found on the beach on September 14 in the seaside town of Monarch, Massachusetts.  Any information you can provide should be communicated to the Monarch Police Department.

September 30, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  The mother of the two slain boys found on the beach on September 14, 2013 has been located 15 miles from the seaside town.  Ms. Green was found in a bar off of Route 18, her whereabouts called in by the proprietor of the establishment.  A fellow patron of the bar at the time of the arrest indicated that Ms. Green was continually repeating a poem about a King and the return to the sea.  “She seemed off her rocker, if you asked me.” The anonymous patron commented.

 

Dedicated to Ben Roach, for being a pal.