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Challenge of the Week LXXXVII
Descriptive Writing. One of the four foundational elements of the written word. You can write about anything you want, poetry or Prose; but make sure to focus on your descriptions. Whether you're describing a character, a setting, or an emotion, we want the imagery to leap out of the page. But tread lightly - there is such a thing as too much description. We're looking for that perfect balance. Imagery that sings, but doesn't scream.
Antloavina
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Who Am I?

It was May 2003; Sirens rang out over the small village of South Pekin. It was a tornado. I didn’t know what it was at the time; I had just moved to Illinois the year before and had never experienced a tornado before that. I, of course, was at that stage that all ten year olds are at where they believe they know everything, so I ignored it. In my defense, I had lived near a military base before that had all types of sirens go off at all sorts of times that meant nothing to the common public. At least, that is what I did until my stepmom came running in my room yelling at me to go to the bathroom. I had no idea why and definitely was in no hurry, but I did as told and called the dogs in with me. It was only then that I noticed the wind, It’s howling and blowing increasing until I hear the recognizable crackling of a tree breaking and falling over onto someone’s car, it’s own sirens joining in the catastrophe of noise. My stepmom rushed into the bathroom and ordered me into the bathtub. Fear started to settle in my gut as I realized that this wasn’t nothing, I felt like throwing up but I did as told, curling in on myself to make myself as small as possible after It became clear that my stepmom planned on joining me. Suddenly the power went out, startling and scaring me even more than before. I have always been afraid of the dark, and the sudden plunge into it was too much. I screamed as lightning struck near by and shook the house. I wished it would stop, but it wasn’t, no this was just the beginning.

Soon enough the entire house was shaking from the wind, and I could no longer hear the siren that started all of this. The wind was whistling, howling, roaring, the windows were shaking the trees were crackling, and the house was groaning, and that was when it happened. The tornado broke through the house and was ripping it to shreds around us. I began to feel my stepmom lift off of me and I reached out to grab onto her. I shouldn’t have. I began to be lifted up into the air by the massive funnel of wind. I closed my eyes and clung to my stepmom while screaming in fear and darkness, that is the last thing I knew.

Next time I woke up I was in a bathtub in a destroyed home and a long haired woman was screaming at me. I didn’t understand her but I could tell the simple act of waking up greatly relieved her. I went to stand only to have sudden pain in my feet, I didn’t have shoes on, and the splinters of wood and nails hurt my feet. Luckily, the long haired woman noticed this and called out to an older woman the next house over. Thankfully she had shoes I could use, though I still had to wonder who she was. In fact, I wonder about a lot of things. But most important of those wonderings was the persistent question I have had since I woke up from my dark slumber.

Who am I?

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