I’ll be posting with more regularity/things OTHER than stockpiled dreams. Soon. Just be patient. I’m almost[ish] done with a gothic short story.
The tornado and hurricane name, leaving a trail of rubble and devastation in its path. it struck our city of ______, destroying many of the buildings that made it up.
Many of the civilians had been ordered to leave their houses and move to certain buildings within the main city that were deemed safe enough to support life.
After the worst of it had struck, everything on the radio instructed people to not leave their houses.
But my dad had to go to work, and I wanted to survey the destruction downtown.
We got in the car and headed out , to the left of our house, towards the downtown. Rains till came down in sheets, and I heard and saw, I know not which, a helicopter hovering near us, behind us, I thought.
We drove slowly and carefully, not wanting to risk any more than we needed. He dropped me off near the ruins of a laundromat. My uncle and grandfather were near there, oddly enough, and talking about something.
My father left with a wave, and I went over to my relatives.
We talked a while about this and that, but nothing of consequence. All the while we looked and stared around at our surroundings, the destruction caused by the storms.
I looked at the rubble of the laundromat. It seemed that there was a bulldozer or something similar, with treads for motion, that had been destroyed alongside and in the laundromat. I remembered having seen construction going on nearby there recently, and decided that the powerful winds had thrown the bulldozer into the building.
I told them that I was going to look around in the rubble for anything of interest. They nodded, continuing to talk between themselves, and I went over to the remnants of the building.
The tread was a strange blue colour, and, seeing a piece that had broken of from the rest, I picked it up. On the reverse side of it was a panel covered in complex electronics. I frowned at it, wondering why something so complicated would be on the tread of a construction vehicle.
I dropped it and continued looking around. There was another bench closer to the laundromat, to which my grandfather and uncle moved to for some reason.
Before much longer, I found a wallet. I pulled it out from under some rubble and showed it to my relatives. I opened it, eager to see if there was any money in it.
“That should help your savings go along,” my grandfather said.
Before I had finished opening it, though, a wave of terror and disgust swept over me. Wallets don’t just sit around without an owner.
I realized that I had said that thought out loud. My uncle and grandfather looked at me, eyes wide in horror.
“There’s probably a body in there,” I said. I turned to my uncle, who had just been staring to say something, then looked over to where my grandfather had been.
He was gone.