Storm Till Dawn

 At the very tip of a sprawling island, a rocky cliff overlooked the sea that had once been the sole lifeline for the islanders. Imposing stone houses sat perched in a circle on the cliff, like an aerie of eagles, a sight that would have been more majestic had eleven of the twelve huts not been derelict. The twelfth housed the last member of what was once a thriving fisherfolk community. A light flickered through the grime-covered window of the dwelling and a man stepped out, staring intently at the sky. 

  It was an exceptionally calm day. The water was a mirror, reflecting the serene blue sky flawlessly. White cotton-candy clouds languidly sidled across the empyrean blue expanse, seemingly headed towards a spot a few miles from the cliff. The scent of brine hung heavy in the lilting breeze.

  The man, however, was not enjoying the picturesque sight. His sharp grey eyes spoke of apprehension and his lips pursed grimly under his scraggly beard. The sea was a ferocious and fickle force; it was not necessarily a good sign for it to be so halcyon. Moreover, the gulls had ceased their usually incessant cawing, which could only mean one thing- a storm was coming. 

  Heaving a sigh, the man went back in the hut, proceeding to bolt the windows and door shut, placing dry rations and oil for the kerosene lamp on a high shelf and otherwise preparing for the oncoming storm. Although he had weathered many storms in his lifetime, this one was different. He had heard tell of such a storm from an old woman when he was but a child. According to her, that storm was the reason the fishermen had lugged stone from an abandoned quarry instead of using wood for their houses. He settled wearily in the only chair in the room and wiped the window on his right with a greying rag so he could peer through it.

  The originally bright blue sky was now a stark white, and the previously harmless clouds had coalesced into a rumbling sooty mass. As more and more clouds joined the others, the mass began to grumble louder.

  Suddenly, misshapen fingers of pure energy thrust through the clouds, reaching for the sea. A deafening boom marked their arrival. Undaunted by their failure, the fingers tried again as if they wanted to whisk the sea and air together. Another boom resounded, as though some strange being was reveling in the chaos it had wrought. Now frenzied, the fingers of lightning descended again, and again, fracturing what little could be seen of the sky into uncountable jagged shards. 

  The wind picked up, turning into a terrible tyrant as it raged across the water, whipping the waves into towering walls before watching them crash down. The sea churned and frothed in agony, voicing its suffering. Again and again the crazed gale forcefully erected liquid behemoths, abandoning them moments later so they would helplessly crash against each other. 

  All this the man saw through the window. He had just scarfed a few biscuits and salted sardines for lunch when it started to rain. Thankfully, he had fixed the roof a few days ago. His past experiences made it possible to ignore the whistling wind that battered against the window, the door’s creaking hinges, and the ceaseless patter of raindrops striking the roof. Still, he was not accustomed to not working at this time, and the rope that he had knotted and unraveled repeatedly failed to abate his boredom. Thus, he endured. 

  The storm dragged on. He had the same food for dinner and lit the kerosene lamp after some deliberation. He did not retire to his cot, instead, he tried to make himself more comfortable in the chair and placed a faded quilt on his lap. Thrice he awoke in the course of the night; once to properly cover himself with the quilt, then to a peal of particularly loud thunder, and the last time to place a bucket under a tiny leak to avoid wetting the floor. 

  Tired as he was, years of conditioning had him awake at dawn the next morning. He unbolted the door and staggered outside on numb legs, being greeted by the gleeful calls of flying seagulls. The sea was calm again, as though sated after its outburst. The angry mass of storm clouds from yesterday were now flitting away from each other as white wisps and when the thick cloud bank to his right dispersed, he saw iridescent hues of tangerine and dusky rose that heralded the sunrise.