Weathering The Storm
Nicholas Riverstone battled through the furious downpour, shielding his eyes from the freezing water that dripped down his hood. He was struggling. He had only been outside for a few minutes, but the wind was strong, pushing him around and threatening to send him to the ground if he didn't keep steady, and it was backed up by rain falling in overwhelming droves. To his side was a row of houses, and at the end of the row he could just about see the porch light of his own house, shining bright amidst the darkness. As he was looking, he heard a loud thud ahead of him followed by a scraping sound coming towards him. He looked ahead and only had time to stifle a yelp and dash to the side before a wheelie bin came thundering down the street vomiting its contents all over the pavement and barely missing him.
"Christ." He said. He turned back to the porch light, and pushed on towards it. He reached the driveway, wincing as some water seeped through his coat and down his back, and finally made it to the door, finding it had been left unlocked. He pushed it open and shut it behind him. "Fucking hell, man." He said while he found his keys in his coat pocket and locked up the door. "Yeah, let's work overtime tonight." He said. "That sounds like a great idea, surely nothing could go wrong with that."
He made his way further inside, kicking off his shoes and leaving them on the doormat, and putting his coat on the radiator by the door. The living room door was next to him, he peered inside and saw the room dark, except for the television across from him, showing some anime that his brother, Cliff, liked to watch, Nicholas saw him on the couch opposite the TV, paying half of his attention to it, and paying the other half to his phone. He didn't notice Nicholas peeking his head in. He didn't bother to announce himself, and just left and went further down the hall. Trying to talk to Cliff was a nightmare in and of itself, he mumbled his way through just about everything he said and was never interested in anything that anyone else in the house was up to. Nicholas reached the stairs and went up, they creaked loudly under his every step. At the top of the stairs, his room was just on the left, the door had a collection of old rock band stickers accompanied by a hand carved wooden sign nailed into it that bore his name.
He went inside and shut the door behind him, throwing himself onto his large bed but quickly getting up before his damp shirt could spread water onto the blanket. He took his shirt off and tossed it into a pile of laundry next to the bed that had built up over the course of the week, looking at it made him sigh. The light suddenly flickered out, and then came back on just as suddenly as it had cut out. He scowled at the dusty lightbulb. Stupid old thing. He thought.
He had a bulky, old wooden desk sat next to the door, with an equally old wooden chair, he sat down and cleared aside some clutter that had gathered up. There were some crumpled up paper scraps that he swept off the desk and into the trash can, some pencils he moved into a pot in the corner of the desk, and then his hand moved across a primitive wooden statue. It was an old gift from his friend Owen, he didn't remember leaving it here. He picked it up, it had been carved into his own likeness, it was done poorly, Nicholas had to admit, you couldn't tell at all that it was supposed to be him, but he always kept it around the room, knowing the effort Owen had to go through to make it. "Ah, Owen." He said, just before a thought crossed his mind. "Shit, Owen!" He ran over to his window and pulled the curtain aside. From here he could watch the full wrath of the storm. He saw more wheelie bins getting hurled by the wind, scattering both themselves and their contents everywhere, as well as trees rocking around like people at a rave, and backyard hedges getting robbed of all their leaves as the weather wracked them.
In the distance, Nicholas could just about see the edge of the local woodlands, where Owen was due to go camping yesterday evening. He grumbled nervously. "Of all weekends, you pick this one." He said, and sighed. He got his phone out and dialled in Owen's number, it rang as he continued to watch the storm…and rang…and rang. Beep!Nicholas hung up before the answering machine could say more than a couple words. "Dammit."
He went to his messages. Hey dude, everything alright over there? He typed in and hit send. "Hopefully he sees that." He looked again out the window. "I should check on him if he doesn't." He said, pushing his concern to the back of his mind. He went back to the desk, grabbing the statue and placing it on a shelf just above the desk at head height. The shelf was filled with various items he cherished. Right in the middle was an ornament he always stopped to look at, a small ceramic egg, masterfully painted and dotted with little gems, the design was so intricate he would never tire of admiring it. But the longer he looked, a certain emptiness crept into his heart as he thought about the reason he owned it. It had belonged to his father, and was part of a whole collection of strange and wonderful things, though he didn't have much need of his collection after he passed, so things like the egg were passed on around the family. A single tear formed as he thought about his father, and he smiled. It had been over 3 years since he died, but he still warmed his son's heart every day.
He went through a set of drawers that were built in under his bed, and pulled out some pyjamas and put them on, before clicking off the light and climbing into bed. He looked out the window one more time, watching leaves barrel down the street like ornery insects, before laying down.