Group Post: Dark and Stormy Night

It was a dark and stormy night, like so many summer nights tend to be. It was fitting, really. The weather outside matched the darkness in his eyes, the darkness of my mood, the storminess of our relationship. The thunder served to compliment our argument, adding sound effects and emphasis at all the right moments. The lightning did nothing to lighten the scene, but instead cast sinister flashes of light that illuminated the room momentarily, only to fade back to darkness again. The storm we were weathering inside was no more real than the one releasing it’s wrath outside our windows. It became nearly impossible to tell the difference between the literal storm and the figurative storm; both would pass eventually, yet both would leave damage in their wake. The storm could serve as a metaphor for our entire relationship.
We’d weathered many storms together, the two of us. They weren’t always big storms. In fact, at the beginning they were anything but. They were sun showers. Momentary drizzles in an otherwise sunny and pleasant day. And those are nothing out of the ordinary and nothing entirely unpleasant. In fact, they could even be refreshing; a welcome change in otherwise consistent weather. But I should have seen those dark clouds rolling in from the horizon. They were clearly visible, even on the sunniest of days. There was always something dark about him. His features were dark. His moods were dark. His humor was dark. And the clouds continued to roll in, surrounding me, yet I clung to my ray of sunlight still visible through the clouds. No, the storm would never come my way. I could change the direction of the wind, will the storm to move in another direction, far away from my patch of sunshine. I ignored the first rumblings of distant thunder, refusing to evacuate and seek safety. I stubbornly and naively stayed in my house so close to the shore, in complete denial that I was in any danger.
But soon that last little ray of sunshine disappeared, engulfed and overtaken by the black clouds that surrounded him. The first clap of thunder bellowed from somewhere deep within his chest. He ranted and raved and yelled. The darkness in his eyes had completely taken over and the rain was pouring down on me in the form of insults and slurs and put downs and profanities. My umbrella of tears and apologizes and promises did nothing to shelter me from the deluge. I was soaking wet and defeated, shivering and scared. Once his clouds had emptied themselves of all their precipitation, he wrapped me up in a towel, carried me inside, and dried me off. He brought me in from the storm and I was once again safe and warm in his arms.
The storm had passed, the clouds had cleared, and all was well. But it wasn’t long before I heard the distant rumblings of thunder and saw those black clouds starting to roll in from the horizon again. There was about to be another storm. It’d been a while since the first one and the conditions were just right. But again, I refused to believe that I needed to evacuate; I’d be safe in my house on the shore, just like I’d been the first time. The claps of thunder sounded, and the rain of insults and slurs and put downs and profanities began again, this time harder. It was that kind of rain that comes down with such force that it stings when it hits your skin. But this time, there wasn’t just rain and thunder. There was lightening. It struck with such a force that it knocked me to the ground. Stunned, I looked up at him from the floor, searching for some kind of light in his pitch black eyes. There was none. Another bolt of lightening hit as his foot connected with my stomach. The storm lasted longer this time, and left much more damage in it’s wake than the first one had. And once there was no more precipitation left in those black clouds of his, he once again surveyed the damage and began the necessary repairs.
We weathered many more of those storms together, the two of us. Each one was more severe than the previous one had been. The damage was more intense and harder to repair. That little house of the shore was being worn and broken down, one storm at a time. But on this night, something felt different. This was a bigger storm than I’d ever weathered before. My little house on the shore could not stand up to the storm that was coming to inflict it’s wrath. And so, I evacuated. 
I turned and walked out into the dark and stormy night. Into the rain. I embraced this storm because I knew it would be the last one I’d ever have to weather with him. All that was left for me to do was to wait for the clouds to part and for the sun to shine through again. It always does. As for the damage to my little house on the shore? Slowly but surely, I’m fixing it up. It takes time, especially since I’m doing it all by myself. But little by little and day by day, my little house is stronger and sturdier, just like it was before it ever weathered that season of storms.

My Master has also written a post following this prompt. Scroll down to read his contribution.

This was a group post, organized by Kimberly over at The Errant Wife. Go see who else participated:

13 Messages
Barefoot Dreamer

This entry was posted in Group Post, It Felt Like A Kiss, Soul Searching and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.


  1. Emmy
    Posted September 15, 2009 at 12:37 am | Permalink

    I love this story as it is a great comparison of the two storms, if you will. Intelligently written, as always.

    Well done.

  2. xX...Amy...Xx
    Posted September 15, 2009 at 5:03 am | Permalink

    Absolutely beautiful, sometimes metaphors can be trite and overused but this one was just perfect :)


  3. Another Suburban Mom
    Posted September 15, 2009 at 5:45 am | Permalink

    Beautiful story, loved the metaphor

  4. Topaz
    Posted September 15, 2009 at 8:39 am | Permalink

    You took the storm to the brink. It really brought out the dire wrath of it all. Great piece.

  5. Profligacy
    Posted September 15, 2009 at 9:37 am | Permalink

    I loved this one. Amazing images. Speaks to the denial included in those events. You should write everything half asleep. Bravo!

  6. Gray
    Posted September 15, 2009 at 10:03 am | Permalink

    You have such a talent for words. What a great piece. :)

  7. Dharma
    Posted September 15, 2009 at 1:40 pm | Permalink

    The imagery and emotion of this post are very moving. Thank you for sharing this part of yourself.

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  1. By Fear and Loathing on July 8, 2010 at 9:49 am

    [...] one that, even after all this time, still sunk my heart to the pit of my stomach. The one I thought I’d finally freed myself from. But abusers never really go away, do [...]

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