1 A day for the luckiest

Julius

It was supposed to be a storm. At least, that was how the reporters broadcasted it.

"Juls!" Anastasia called. "The plywood is creaking, it's not secured enough!"

Julius pounded hard on the nail. "Can't Bill do it instead?"

"I'm helping Mom wrap our furnitures," Bill's voice said.

Julius brought down the hammer on the already deep nail with a loud thud.

"Are you complaining?" He exclaimed

"No, just wait a sec, I'm almost done here." He fastened the roof with a nail, positioning it next to a rusted one which he might have hammered there years before. It would be the third one now on the same spot.

The wind lashed at his face. The storm was looming nearer. It covered the sky with gray clouds that extended as far as he could see.

'It will be a long wait,' the weathermen had said. 'Malong has a wind diameter of 500 km, moving at a speed of 20 mph, with gustiness up to 300 mph and wind speeds of 290 mph. The eye diameter is about 50 km."

It was not even the strongest storm this year. But it was the one making landfall on Julius's village so whether it was strongest or not made no matter. He had to be prepared.

The look of the clouds made him uneasy. Surely, Juls had seen clouds like those before but something about their calm put such a strange dread on his heart.

It began to drizzle.

"Juuuls, the window!"

Julius broke out of his trance. "Alright, coming."

The nails clanged when he dropped it. He slid his hammer into his pocket and hastily climbed down the ladder.

The winds are the devil, his father has always said. The windows need to be boarded up. The roof secured.

"Mom! Which one?"

"The back window!"

"Okay!"

He felt the little raindrops pricking his face. It was growing colder. This would be a cold storm. Typhoons are supposed to be warm. But it was cold.

The plywood he had stringed up over the back window swung slightly with the gusts. It made its own little music. And it irritated his hears.

'Where did I put that wire?'

Scratching at his head, he searched for the roll of wire. He remembered putting it in a corner. But which corner?

It was as he looked down at the ground that a pale shadow passed overhead. It would not have been a big deal if it were just a bird's shadow - a small bird's shadow. But it was such a huge shadow with such broad wings that it could have been an airplane except that he heard it flap its wings. It was stronger than the gusts of wind so it was easy to tell.

Yet by the second he looked up, it was gone. He tried scanning for it on the horizon and at nearby trees but it was nowhere to be seen.

Then at a whistle of the wind, something caught onto his shoulder. A bird's feather. It shone even in the pale daylight. It possessed an azure sheen within it that could almost be mistaken to create its own light. Like a candle.

The first thought on his mind was, 'Bill will take it for himself again.' So he safely stashed it under his shirt. It felt really cold. Like the steel head of his father's hammer.

"Juls, mom's getting really furious about that board, chop-chop!"

"Right, I'm just looking for - there you are."

When he entered the house, Anastasia called his name again, "Juls, check the water jugs. Make sure they're all full. And the drums in the toilet too."

Bill was taping celophane onto a drawer. He looked at him and smirked.

"Can't Bill do it? I'm really tired."

Anastasia looked at him. He was wet though not soaked, but sweat beaded on the sides of his face after securing the whole roof with nails and sacks of soil.

"Bill, go tend to the water, will you?" She said sweetly.

Bill's brows rounded. He glared at Juls as he headed for the toilet but all Juls gave him was a blank face. He took no pleasure in it.

The storm arrived at half past twelve at noon. But the electric supply had been cut off three hours before that.

The strength of the gusts picked up a notch. And the trees started to dance. The rain was sparse and incredibly as the time ticked by, it got sparser.

Indeed the real devil was the wind.

Julius watched from his room's window, through the part where the plywood did not cover. It was fascinating, the way the winds whipped everything around.

"Juls," Anastasia's voice called, tenderly. She carried a cup of steaming chocolate.

"For me?"

She nodded, stepping towards his bed. "It's getting cold. I figured you might want to drink something hot."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry." She said.

"For what?" He stared at the steaming cup.

"For earlier," she said gently, while reaching to pat him.

"Oh," Julius saddened. "It's okay. I understand."

"You know, you're a really great boy. And always remember, I love you."

"Thanks," he said, feeling unsure if 'I love you too' was the better answer to it. Yet she did not love him. He knew that. And he did not love her - she was perfectly aware. Their relationship was more like at a professional level.

Bill was the mother's son. Julius was the father's son. It was a complicated family. Right now however, Julius was by himself. His father would not be back until next Christmas - the only time he could afford a leave.

Anastasia had been kind so far. And that was becoming more a problem than a foundation. A true mother is neither kind nor cruel. She is caring. Kindness was becoming a barrier between them. It led to the notion that breaking the barrier was a cause for strife. Which should never be the case if they were real family.

Bill was another case altogether. He acted like a bully. Big brothers are bullies but he was crossing lines, many many lines.

'I want you out of my world,' Bill had once told him.

And the saddest thing was, Julius wanted to be a part of his world. He had never felt so unwanted. He wished he had something to remember his mother by - a heirloom, a bracelet, a coin or just a handkerchief - but no. All he had was an old picture of her. And it was becoming smudged with age. Her face was starting to blur off. Soon, he would have nothing.

The storm sang a monotonous cacophony. So repetitive that it sounded like a waking lullaby.

Then without any warning, it went an octave higher. The breaking of the branches rang so crisp amidst the howling wind.

Anastasia stood up.

Julius prayed silently. To endure through this storm.

"I've secured the roof. It won't fail," he assured her.

"I hope so," she stooped and laid a soft kiss on his forehead. "Try to rest for now."

Then as she swiveled around to leave, something weird happened.

The drawers lifted off the floor, hovering inches above it.

Weak on her knees, Anastasia sank back down on the bed.

"It's flooding." Julius did not know how he knew but the absurd words just came out of his mouth. But if he was right, it was quickly rising.

He looked out the window and saw things floating down the road as if guided by some flow. "Oh shit, it's really flooding."

The downpour was soundless and invisible.

"Mom! Things are floating in here!" Bill yelled.

Anastasia dashed toward her son, forgetting Julius completely.

The angry winds swept again. And this time, they peeled off the roof with a wrenching metallic scream that did not even last half a second. The storm seemed to have hands, many of them. They scratch at the boards, pulled them off and tossed them into the air.

Naked and exposed, the glass panels shattered at the besettting.

By the time Anastasia came back for Julius, the bottom of the drawer was level at his waist.

Her face looked aghast, lips pale with horror. She uttered over the wail of the storm, "Something terrible is on the news, we need to run!"