The wind rushes into the room with a howl, shoving through Abigail’s hair and pushing the curtains back with a wild flap. It swirls through her math notes, tugging them up into the air and spinning them around the room.
Abigail dives for them, but it’s too late; one is already gone out the window, and two others seem to be stuck in the doorframe above the closet. She snatches a few out of the air and crumples them to her chest, spins around, stumbles for the bed.
Under the covers, the howling doesn’t seem so bad. Abigail clutches her flashlight and stares blearily at her remaining notes, but the numbers shift and spin under her gaze, going in and out of focus. Occasionally a dull thwip noise suggests that other things are being pushed around by the gale.
Abigails dozes fitfully, images of paper and branch and wind spinning around her mind. There are too many questions, and too many answers, and none of them are actually adding up right.
Ahhh sounds like “things” of an unknown and interesting sort, are about to happen!
Comment by Heartfelt — January 9, 2009 @ 2:02 am