Hey everybody! This my story that I wrote for my own challenge. 😛I’ll put the writing prompt

HERE: tornadomurkyclouds






I’m only here because you made me.

That is the one thought that I had as my parents drove away in their old, creaky cart from our farm. I was left here alone. My parents thought that I could manage without them getting in the way. I think it was because they think that I am vulnerable to the fever, and want me to stay away from them. I am in quarantine, and my parents don’t care. They never care. They don’t care if I die from the fever or not. They just want me to get away from them.

No, I must stay positive. Like that helps, argues back my head. No. It doesn’t help. It will never help. Nobody will. No. I must push those voices to the back of my head, beyond my hearing.

I go outside, the sun beating down on my back, but my day is as dark and murky as the clouds approaching. I try to pull weeds, but they are nettles. One of the needles goes straight into my hand. I yelp in pain, and squeeze my hand in between my legs. I decide to go back inside, just as more murky clouds with a dark future cover the sky.

The wind starts to whip wildly, and I try to run. The clouds get darker, and cover the sun. The sun is blotted out by these vile creatures, these, these…

No. Push away the voices. Push. Away. Now.

The clouds start to make their descent, twisting into an eerie funnel. When the funnel hits the ground, everything is chaotic. I cannot run; my feet are stuck. I am stuck. I cannot move. The voices come back. Telling me of my failure. Telling me of my past. Reminding me of how I hated my parents. Hating me.

The funnel comes closer. I still cannot move. Suddenly, the wind stops. The funnel disappears, inching its way up into the clouds. It ascends back into the sky. I still cannot move. The dark clouds are still here, but now a rain starts. And I can move. I start to dance. Dancing in rain. Dancing, yes dancing.

Everyone can do it. Everyone. I dance. Forgiveness. The rain feels good. I start to cry.

Tears of joy. I am forgiven. I forgive myself for hating my parents. For hating myself. For hating everybody.

I am forgiven.




I remember what my parents told me.

You, my precious daughter, are never too far gone.


I am forgiven.


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