IFC Hurricanes Story

Instructions

Christmas is a special time, a time of giving, a time of love, a time of joy. The tradition is this, my immediate family (consisting of my younger brother, younger sister, mum and dad) fly up to Darwin on Christmas Eve where we meet the cousins (tackling involved), the uncles (drinks involved) the aunts (a lot of food involved) as well as the owners of the house, my grandparents. The property is beautiful, in an old, country townhouse sort of way. There is so much space, both inside and outside. It can easily fit my extended family, which is saying something. The space, while much needed at Christmastime, can be extremely lonely or at least that’s what Grandma says. It is one of my favourite times, after all the food is gone and while my cousins are swimming, I always manage to sneak away and we have a conversation, just Grandma and me. We talk about anything and everything. She is an outstanding storyteller, you are captivated from the first word, hooked until the end and disappointed when it finishes. I always dream of one day telling stories as good as her, maybe being a librarian. The problem is, at least so far, my life has been pretty boring, bland, I guess. I wish something interesting would happen, something well and story worthy. Everyone had settled down for the night (imagine shoulder to shoulder sleeping bags) and were excited for Christmas the next day. They couldn’t wait to get their presents and, to be honest, I couldn’t either. We were all so excited that none of us noticed the rain getting consistently heavier. I got startled awake in the middle of the night, just to look around and see water creeping through the locked and closed windows. That was the first indication something interesting was happening. Not wanting to wake up anyone else, I quietly made my way through. The moment I opened the door it all went to waste as the wind slammed it open fully, making me jump. It probably woke everyone else up but I was so distracted by the sight before me. It was the most horrific sight my young eyes had ever seen. The whole house had been blown down, the dining room, the living room, all of the bedrooms… Tears streamed down my face as I stood there against the wind in my threadbare pajamas, knowing the chance I would ever have a conversation with my Grandma again was miniscule. I looked around at all that is left of the wonderful house, the floorboards and realised I might never see my parents again. I almost am overcome with pain but I choose to grow numb to it, to take action. With the harsh rainfall and fierce wind as a soundtrack, I wake the kids. Just as I was planning how to get us to safety, I heard a creak. Then another. Then another. We rushed out of the door just in time for the walls to fall down behind us and the roof to collapse in on itself. Standing there, the rain bucketing down around us, I screamed over the rain for people to pray for help. I did a prayer myself, “God let us live and I will do everything in return.” We clambered over the destruction as much as we could, only to look out and see the extent of destruction. The trees were stripped bare, grass was ripped out if it wasn’t covered by the water. Even the strong and sturdy steel was bent over. All of us kids huddled together, hoping to use body heat to keep warm. While it helped somewhat, all of us were cold and I could tell from my limited first aid experience that some of us had hypothermia. There we were, soaking wet, no adult in sight, wind blowing like crazy. We stayed there all night, praying and hoping someone would come to us. From the many books I had read, I knew we had to stay awake. No one could fall asleep. We didn’t want anyone else dead. Shaking that thought away, I thought of Grandma and the stories she used to tell. Taking a leaf out of her book, I started talking. Sharing stories. At least as much as I could as I sat there shivering. Any story, real stories, fake ones, fairytales, Bible stories. They just needed to keep us awake. The sun broke over the horizon and we were still there, shivering. All of us were relieved at the warmth the sun brought, but even more when a silhouette of a person came into view. They were walking towards us. By this time, I didn’t care who they were, I just wanted someone to help us. More and more people came and one by one they lifted and carried us into the car. As I lay there in the safe, warm and I thanked God for getting me out of this alive and hoped that one day this mess of a life would sort itself out.