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This week, we present responses to the challenge: Hurricane. Write about a family experiencing a hurricane. What do they say to each other while they’re huddled in the basement, listening to their house being battered and torn apart?
By Madelyn Fredella
Age 15, Newbury, Vt.
Our basement is wet and cold. I huddle against my sister and brother, their warmth seeping into me and spreading through my body. My parents hold us closer, and we feel their arms encircle us in an embrace of love and protection.
We can hear the aggressive wind ripping our house apart above our heads. I wonder if our neighbors are safe… Our relatives? My friends? What if we are the only survivors? My hands shake uncontrollably with fear. I clench them tightly, until my bony knuckles turn white.
We had had very little time to prepare. The weathermen originally said the hurricane was supposed to miss us, but they were wrong. We had a single day to prepare. The supermarkets were packed, teeming with frantic people searching for food to last them through the storm. People were fighting over cans of beans and soup. I guess that’s where the old saying, “desperate times call for desperate measures,” comes from.
We spent the night getting the basement ready. We searched the house for blankets, pillows, lanterns, candles, and anything else that would help. We told my younger brother Henry that we were building a giant pillow fort and we were all going to have a big sleepover together. A huge smile had split across his face, and I’d thought, If only you knew.
We now know the storm is supposed to last for two days, at the very least. We are prepared for five days, maybe longer if we ration.
I find myself wondering how other families are doing — the families that couldn’t prepare in time. They’re probably not in a good position right now. Are there people out there who didn’t find shelter in time? I don’t want to think about what’s happening to them.
We are okay, and that’s what matters most. The ceiling creaks loudly and Henry grabs my hand. I give it a quick, reassuring squeeze and pull him closer to me. We stand here, united and feeding off each other’s strength. We will get through this, as a family.
By Gyury deNagy
Age 14, Topsham, Vt.
The basement is damp and dimly lit by a single lamp. Within its light a family huddles together out of fear. The sound of wind can be heard ripping through the air outside as rain pelts the bunker’s roof. The family stays silent, and though it’s only been minutes, it feels like hours.
Finally one of them, a young boy about 9, lifts his head and speaks: “Mom, are we going be ok?”
His mom looks into his eyes and says, “Of course we’ll be alright, sweetie – we’re going to be just fine.”
The dad doesn’t speak at first, but he wraps his arms around the mom and child and holds them tight. When he does speak, it’s to whisper, “I love you,” to them.
Almost in unison, tears building in their eyes, they whisper back, “I love you, too.”