It's My Storm - wewrite freewrite Week 4

This Week's Prompt

The clattering of the tea cup against its saucer rang through the formal living room. Its hand-painted periwinkles and gold leaf rim were normally safe in the hands of the Countess, but today the cup chattered in unsettling clinks. The noise disturbed the Countess’ attempts at composure, so she placed the china safely on the glass table before her. As she did so, the door opened suddenly, making her jump farther back on the silk settee.

“George, must you enter so frighteningly quickly?” She accosted the man, who remained by the doorway.

“My apologies, your ladyship. I will do my best to be less…frightening, in the future.” The butler gave a small smile, to which the Countess responded with a relieved chuckle. Taking her laughter as forgiveness, he walked into the well-decorated space.

“I suppose it’s just this storm that has me on edge,” she confessed, with a brief glimpse to the ever-darkening scene beyond the window’s delicate frame. From their place on the hill, they could ordinarily see a small town in the distance, with vibrant green mountains beyond that. But today all charm was washed out in the sea of deepening purples, grays, and blacks descending into the valley. The Countess had watched as it grew closer, as the rumbles became roars, until it was too much for her to take.

“I thought your ladyship might wish to know that there has been a letter from town,” George ventured. The Countess perked up at the news, and eagerly took the envelope from his gloved hands. He continued, “Your brother has decided to wait out the storm at his office. He feels, and I must agree, that it would be too dangerous to ride back in such weather.”

“At least he’s indoors,” she sighed, “though I do feel he’d be safer here.”

“I understand your fears,” he comforted, “but all storms must—” A flash of light burst into the room, accompanied by a thunderous boom. The china rattled on the table, and the pair felt the very floor beneath them shake. It was enough to crack George’s professionalism into a primal fear, a fear reflected in the Countess’ eyes.

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••.•´•.••My Part••.•´•.••

Her brother Stanley however, was not inside or in town, as both she and George had assumed from the letter. He wasn’t even in England, but had secretly flown to America the day before. In fact, he was in a very precarious situation at that exact moment, riding with the “Storm Chasers” from the TV show. He had entered a contest for the chance to go on one of their storm-chasing adventures and won.

It was his favorite show since it had first debuted. He always dreamed about being in one of their weird vehicles chasing after a tornado. Stanley projected himself as a very macho-type guy, but he was afraid of his sister, the Countess. That’s why he had to sneak a flight to America to claim his prize.

The predicament he found himself in, was that the Storm Chaser vehicle he was in had blown its engine and was a sitting duck directly in the path of the quickly approaching tornado. At the exact moment the tornado started tossing the vehicle around, the floor began shaking in England at the family estate.

Stanley got bruised up during the encounter, as did the Storm Chaser guys, but no one was seriously injured. He was more worried about the possibility that it might be on the news and his sister might see it, than he was about his injuries. The next day however, he was a changed man. He’d awakened that morning with a purpose in his life – to stand up for himself.

By ten thirty AM, he was a on a plane back to England.

Even before he’d booked the flight, he concluded that if he’d survived a tornado, he could surely relay the fact that he’d be running his own life from that point on, to his sister. Little did he know that his sister wouldn’t be a problem anymore anyway. The house had collapsed while he was being tornado tossed, and both she and the butler, George, had been killed.

After landing at London’s Heathrow airport, he saw on one of the terminal screens the news of the collapse of the house, and the deaths of his sister and George. He felt numb. He didn’t know what to do. Then he decided to call his Uncle Irwin.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” screamed Irwin on the other end. “Your sister the Countess is dead and they didn’t find you there; just George!” This is how everyone talks to Stanley; like he’s rubbish. He wasn’t going to just silently take it anymore.

“I went on a trip to America, if it’s any of your business Uncle Irwin. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t aware that at thirty seven years old, I have to check with you first, before I do anything.”

“Now look lad…”

“No! YOU look Uncle Irwin, I’ve had it. Now I’m in control,” he said, and ended the call.

After no one had heard from him for two days, Stanley was found dead in a hotel room from an unknown brain aneurysm that had ruptured during the Storm Chasers tossing he’d experienced.

Source of Images used in this post:

_{Estate: Image by David Mark from Pixabay
Tornado: Image by skeeze from Pixabay
Plane: Image by Bilal EL-Daou from Pixabay}