My Personal Storm

I have a book full of ideas about things to write about. One of them is "a storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six year old son. Describe the colour of the sky right before the storm hit."

This is my personal storm.

I never noticed my sky because it never occurred to me that it would change. Looking back to right before the storm hit, I suppose the sky was huge and heavy, a jumble of different colours, weathers, and clouds. There was so much sky that it was overwhelming. The colours were probably still bright and vibrant in some parts of the sky but the black of desperate burning was quickly closing in on the other colours.

There were dark red clouds of fury, directed at myself, a simple and deep kind of hatred. Depression is usually represented by the colour black, I was black inside and out and the sky was a brilliant white where it was so easy to see that I was different from the world around me.

The storm didn't come suddenly but right before it hit the sky was as it had always been, no different to anyone but myself. The storm hit and the sky became the colour of flames. I am scared of fire. I was scared of the storm and what it was doing to me. The sky was orange and black with smoke and there was no rain to put the fire out. The rain eventually came and the sky became grey, as it mostly remains.

Maybe there will be another storm that blows away the grey revealing the true colours underneath.

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