It was no good day, this storm made it worse. Could blow down one full grown man but the red dust was the worst. “This must be god’s wrath”, Old Man Turner said. “It’s just the weather”, Blind Miss Cornwall claimed. Dust was red as blood, like blood my Ma spat out. Before she left this world she coughed in pain. Pa couldn’t bear this, he’d hung himself from a rafter in our barn. The sky was dark while i dug their grave. One grave for both—together till the end and beyond. Storm still howled, house went down. Storm still howled, trees went down. I took cover beside the grave and then the barn went down. Ready to drown in dust, ready to drown in sand, ready to drown in dirt. Ready to drown if earth won’t spit me out. It was then when i gave up. I took a cigarette, i took what was coming. Sand burned my eyes, nothing i could see. Sand ripped off my shirt then my skin was gone. “Oh Lord, why me?”, I screamed. “Shoulda axed me”, the demon said when i smelled his foul sulphured breath.
Inspiration: 1st chapter of Joe R. Lansdale’s “All the earth, thrown to the sky”
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