Rain, flares, and finally, a car flipped on its side.
Figures flashing in front of headlights, dancing shadows cast on the cliffs
A pandemonium made sluggish by the pounding storm.
Howl — howl is the only word to describe the sound of that night.
Screeching, cackling, wailing…
No, howl — howling was the wind, Mother Nature’s wild, exasperated warning:
“You are not welcome.
You do not belong here.”
Fighting against the wind, I thrust open the door and heard its voice:
“‘WHSHHHHHHH! HSSSS! WSHHH!”
The wind cracked like a whip, dumping water as if it were being hurled sideways from the sea instead of falling from the sky above.
The Howl was piercing.
The Howl was raging.
The Howl was as haunting as it was familiar — bursting forth from a poorly-repressed nightmare shouting
“I will not be forgotten! I can not be forgotten!”
Glass shards as numerous as rain drops littered the road, illuminated by tiny flare fires.
Stripped tires, clothing, the worldly possessions of some life I did not, would not, could not ever know.
