Thankful for the Storm

A short story I wrote in English class.

The sirens sounding in the dark, cold night caused me to jolt awake. I stumbled over to the window and watched in awe as strong winds caused rain to dance and hail to pelt repeatedly on windows, forming their own shaped in the thick gusts of wind that flew almost every second. Seeing clearly was impossible.

I tripped over my pajamas as I ran into my parent's room. My mom was sound asleep. Dad was missing, most likely downstairs, watching the news to be sure we were safe.

I turned around to find my three year old sister gazing up at me, eyes aglow with nervous anticipation.

"Cece?" she asked softly, "I'm scared."

Her curly brown hair was a mess, and she held her teddy bear by his paw. He hung limp from her small hands, as if giving up on life.

I took her back into her room and tucked her in. She looked snug and comfortable, her bear clutched tightly in her arms, but her eyes gave off the fear she concealed. I shut the curtains tightly so the lightning wouldn't frighten her.

"Jess, don't be afraid," I whispered softly. "Nothing outside will hurt you. When I was little, Mom used to tell me that storms were just God rejoicing up in Heaven." She smiled as I watched as her eyes brighten.

I read her her favorite book and sang a lullaby, the one Mom used to sing to me when I was young. Soon, the sound of her soft, smooth breathing was audible. I lay down next to her and fell asleep, my arm wrapped around her small body, keeping her safe and protected through the night.

Morning came soon, and, ever so softly, I opened the window. The sweet smell of a fresh rain was in the air. The grass was glazed with sparkling dew, and the sky was cloudy, but beautiful. I glanced behind me. Jess was still sleeping softly, her lips curved ever so slightly into a smile. 

I was, at that moment, thankful for the storm.

The End

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