"Weather the Storm"

Seven.

Six. Five-four-three.

Two.

One year left. Most preparations have been completed years ago—shelters for people and livestock. Our island has limited space. We can only take necessities when the tornado comes.

I look around my study. It’s crowded with papers; on walls, in stacks, hanging by sting. They have ambitious designs. My projects. I look at them fondly, my heart racing.

The soft pitter-patter of rain catches my attention, and I turn to my window. The rain that gently streaks down the glass morphs the light to a lively gray. It is a pathetic reminder of the chaos that will come.

I grab my last hard-lead pencil. For all the work I’ve done for the city, all the designs I’ve made, I haven’t been paid much.

A stack of blank paper sits to my left. I grab a sheet, pressing pencil to paper. Immediately, ideas swarm into my mind. I could start one design, just a rough sketch-

No.

I must create this. This protection for my designs. If I don’t, nothing I make now matters. It would just be lost in the storm, the worst tornado the weather mages have predicted.

I force myself to forget my dreams, just for now.

J.D. Larsen