Storm #1
Disclaimer: These are all properties of Marvel, except my characters and story.
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Chapter 1:
One rainier season and the flooding will be over. My father is standing on a wooden ladder, inspecting the thatch, and I am on the ground, setting the sandbags in front of the door. Our house, a rough-edged market, sits in the middle of town. People pass by, carrying bags of food, water, or sand. The time of the year is dangerous. Criminals are nowhere; they are scared just as much as we are. In the midst of the public, they camouflage themselves, preparing for disaster.
The gap between rich and poor is evident. Old women, with little children helping, carry bags larger, and heavier than they can carry. One little girl scampers, trying to catch up with her grandmother, and she is almost ran over. Municipal workers, with their makeshift protest signs, angrily return to their homes. Another day and another failed opportunity. The gap continues, and more will die today.
Unlike us, the rich live in a safer part of the city. Not only do they have more money, they have influence. Our president, otherwise our Dictator, does not care about us. Living in his mansion, he surrounds himself with corruption. Down the mountainside to the river, it flows. Poisoning minds with a violent agenda: survival of the fittest that is hard to escape.
__________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1:
One rainier season and the flooding will be over. My father is standing on a wooden ladder, inspecting the thatch, and I am on the ground, setting the sandbags in front of the door. Our house, a rough-edged market, sits in the middle of town. People pass by, carrying bags of food, water, or sand. The time of the year is dangerous. Criminals are nowhere; they are scared just as much as we are. In the midst of the public, they camouflage themselves, preparing for disaster.
The gap between rich and poor is evident. Old women, with little children helping, carry bags larger, and heavier than they can carry. One little girl scampers, trying to catch up with her grandmother, and she is almost ran over. Municipal workers, with their makeshift protest signs, angrily return to their homes. Another day and another failed opportunity. The gap continues, and more will die today.
Unlike us, the rich live in a safer part of the city. Not only do they have more money, they have influence. Our president, otherwise our Dictator, does not care about us. Living in his mansion, he surrounds himself with corruption. Down the mountainside to the river, it flows. Poisoning minds with a violent agenda: survival of the fittest that is hard to escape.
Chapter 2:
Through the rain-spattered window, I saw people running for shelter. Melting into darkness, each of them disappeared one by one. Toxic sand was everywhere, mixed with the deafening hurls; people were screaming. Every cry begged for help. No one answered.
At the antic window, I could not move. These scurrying ants trampled over one another, pushing and shoving. I froze in a trance-like state, where everything seemed unreal. A hand grabbed onto my arm, pulling me away from this recurring scene.
"C’mon, we got to get to the roof." My father said evenly, trying his best to act calm.
I trailed in his path, holding my little sister’s hand, which lagged behind me. Her tiny figure was lost in my shadow. Light shined down the ladder as I climbed. Now atop the roof, a sharp scent stung. It pricked against my nose, reeking of the foul aroma of destruction. Moving a strand piece of hair, I brushed the sandy particles off. Gazing skyward, then eastward, I saw the incoming flood.
Turbulent blue waves sprinted through the ghetto. Destroying, and quickly approaching us. Closer and closer, it came. I tightened my grip on my sister’s hand, and I saw arms surround both of us. Behind them, a large tide upsurges over the edge of our home, and fell.
Water hit my body like a bullet. In a blindsided blur, I ferociously hit the ground. Wheezing, I looked up; I was alone. My back throbbed, and when I put my hand on the back of my head, it was wet. Bringing the limb down, it was marked with red paint.
I could not; I would not let that stop me, though. Edging to the ledge, I finally felt how strong the storm was. Wind pushed and pulled, trying to imitate balancing on a tight rope. Leaning over the edge, I peered down as crawling water did the same on my face.
“Dad, Enu… where are you?” I shouted, losing my voice into the gust.
I heard… nothing, but the water stirring. Then, a loud bang shot out. Turning around, another wave raised high above the edge, prepared to crash down on an expectant soul, me. Death was coming, and I could only watch. However, something appeared in front of me.
It was a Goddess whose crown was elegant, whose skin was exquisite and russet, whose snowy hair spread wide above me. She was beautiful, magnificent, and she… she was flying. A water-like film of pure translucent energy erupted before her. Her eyes glowed like the moon, and somehow the incoming tide diverged. Whoever this Spirit or Goddess was, she controlled the Storm.
Through the rain-spattered window, I saw people running for shelter. Melting into darkness, each of them disappeared one by one. Toxic sand was everywhere, mixed with the deafening hurls; people were screaming. Every cry begged for help. No one answered.
At the antic window, I could not move. These scurrying ants trampled over one another, pushing and shoving. I froze in a trance-like state, where everything seemed unreal. A hand grabbed onto my arm, pulling me away from this recurring scene.
"C’mon, we got to get to the roof." My father said evenly, trying his best to act calm.
I trailed in his path, holding my little sister’s hand, which lagged behind me. Her tiny figure was lost in my shadow. Light shined down the ladder as I climbed. Now atop the roof, a sharp scent stung. It pricked against my nose, reeking of the foul aroma of destruction. Moving a strand piece of hair, I brushed the sandy particles off. Gazing skyward, then eastward, I saw the incoming flood.
Turbulent blue waves sprinted through the ghetto. Destroying, and quickly approaching us. Closer and closer, it came. I tightened my grip on my sister’s hand, and I saw arms surround both of us. Behind them, a large tide upsurges over the edge of our home, and fell.
Water hit my body like a bullet. In a blindsided blur, I ferociously hit the ground. Wheezing, I looked up; I was alone. My back throbbed, and when I put my hand on the back of my head, it was wet. Bringing the limb down, it was marked with red paint.
I could not; I would not let that stop me, though. Edging to the ledge, I finally felt how strong the storm was. Wind pushed and pulled, trying to imitate balancing on a tight rope. Leaning over the edge, I peered down as crawling water did the same on my face.
“Dad, Enu… where are you?” I shouted, losing my voice into the gust.
I heard… nothing, but the water stirring. Then, a loud bang shot out. Turning around, another wave raised high above the edge, prepared to crash down on an expectant soul, me. Death was coming, and I could only watch. However, something appeared in front of me.
It was a Goddess whose crown was elegant, whose skin was exquisite and russet, whose snowy hair spread wide above me. She was beautiful, magnificent, and she… she was flying. A water-like film of pure translucent energy erupted before her. Her eyes glowed like the moon, and somehow the incoming tide diverged. Whoever this Spirit or Goddess was, she controlled the Storm.
Chapter 3:
Rain patted against a window, and I sat wrapped in blankets watching. Each drop mimicked the droplets, forming a puddle below me. They came from my wet clothes, which clung to my body. Tightly constraining my movements, I settled for sliding out of the articles. One by one, they came off, dropping to the floor, prepared for me to pick them up. I stared, hard, trying to dry them with my eyes as I seen my father do once before. To no avail, I gathered them in my arms.
Opening the bathroom door, I carried the clothes with me. Down the hall to the stairs, my dried feet patted against the rug and then each wooden step. This house was antique, something a poor kid like me never experienced. Each wall decorated with golden frames; spring the sight of important history. I stopped; one was our Dictator. Continuing down the steps, I went from Mandella, Clinton’s inauguration, and to a group photo. This was strange; the Goddess that saved me was included. She stood behind a bald man in some chair, smiling.
“Are you all right, Child? A voice said, breaking any remaining peace within my body.
I jumped, and almost slipped on a step. Turning sideways, downward, I faced the voice, the Goddess. She stood beautiful and regal as before. I wondered, “Where did the rich buy or earn this guardian?”
“No, child, I am no Guardian nor God.” She said, earning spluttering from my mouth. I did not mean to say anything aloud. “My name is Ororo.”
“Miss Ororo,” I nodded, tasting the sound of her name on my tongue. “By any chance, did you see my sister or father?”
In response, she advert her eyes, and shook her head left to right. “I’m sorry.”
I sighed, tasting salty drops rolling onto my tongue. “Thank you for saving me.” These words felt right yet guilty at the same time.
“Why did I live?”
My mouth opened again. Instead of words, a loud explosion, louder than before, overshadowed them. The house began shaking, and I fell down the steps, headfirst. Closing my eyes, I wondered if this was what my father and sister experienced. Warm limbs saved me, preventing the harsh contact. My cold skin felt unusual in contact with this smooth, warm sensation.
A megaphone sparked outside, trespassing the inside’s confines. “Come out peacefully. We don’t want to kill you.”
Following Miss Ororo, I walked behind her. We exit the building, and we came face to face with tanks. In the middle, a man holding the megaphone wore lavish militaristic clothing. His Green Beret and face remained un-submerged with the tank he was sitting in.
“On orders of our Great Leader: give us the girl.”
I slowly backed up, hitting the closed front door of the house. A hand rest on my shoulder; it was Ororo.
Her voice firmly denied the request. “You will do no such thing, General. Leave now or your machinery will be destroyed.”
I glance at the woman, not only terrified but also shocked at her reply. There were at least over twenty-five tanks here.
Suddenly, the man began to laugh. “You’re not giving orders here, Woman.” His hand waved in the air, a signal of sorts. “We do not want you. Last warning or you die.”
“No”, she said, which followed a loud whir of machinery powering up.
However, something else happened, snow. Looking skyward, my palms lay open like a glove catching a ball. The cold subsistence was something I never seen before. Snow was really falling. The sound was gentle, but it seemed to be getting harder. Turning in front of me, I saw giant sized balls falling onto the tanks, and snow leisurely submerging them. The people inside quickly leapt out, which followed a flurry of lighting descending across the horizon. Looking at the sky over them, I do not think it was snow scarring them. It was the eye of the storm overhead, rotating and rotating, slowly becoming larger.
Glancing sideways, I saw Ororo whose eyes were glowing again. She stepped towards me, gently grabbing my arm, and into the storm, we went.
Rain patted against a window, and I sat wrapped in blankets watching. Each drop mimicked the droplets, forming a puddle below me. They came from my wet clothes, which clung to my body. Tightly constraining my movements, I settled for sliding out of the articles. One by one, they came off, dropping to the floor, prepared for me to pick them up. I stared, hard, trying to dry them with my eyes as I seen my father do once before. To no avail, I gathered them in my arms.
Opening the bathroom door, I carried the clothes with me. Down the hall to the stairs, my dried feet patted against the rug and then each wooden step. This house was antique, something a poor kid like me never experienced. Each wall decorated with golden frames; spring the sight of important history. I stopped; one was our Dictator. Continuing down the steps, I went from Mandella, Clinton’s inauguration, and to a group photo. This was strange; the Goddess that saved me was included. She stood behind a bald man in some chair, smiling.
“Are you all right, Child? A voice said, breaking any remaining peace within my body.
I jumped, and almost slipped on a step. Turning sideways, downward, I faced the voice, the Goddess. She stood beautiful and regal as before. I wondered, “Where did the rich buy or earn this guardian?”
“No, child, I am no Guardian nor God.” She said, earning spluttering from my mouth. I did not mean to say anything aloud. “My name is Ororo.”
“Miss Ororo,” I nodded, tasting the sound of her name on my tongue. “By any chance, did you see my sister or father?”
In response, she advert her eyes, and shook her head left to right. “I’m sorry.”
I sighed, tasting salty drops rolling onto my tongue. “Thank you for saving me.” These words felt right yet guilty at the same time.
“Why did I live?”
My mouth opened again. Instead of words, a loud explosion, louder than before, overshadowed them. The house began shaking, and I fell down the steps, headfirst. Closing my eyes, I wondered if this was what my father and sister experienced. Warm limbs saved me, preventing the harsh contact. My cold skin felt unusual in contact with this smooth, warm sensation.
A megaphone sparked outside, trespassing the inside’s confines. “Come out peacefully. We don’t want to kill you.”
Following Miss Ororo, I walked behind her. We exit the building, and we came face to face with tanks. In the middle, a man holding the megaphone wore lavish militaristic clothing. His Green Beret and face remained un-submerged with the tank he was sitting in.
“On orders of our Great Leader: give us the girl.”
I slowly backed up, hitting the closed front door of the house. A hand rest on my shoulder; it was Ororo.
Her voice firmly denied the request. “You will do no such thing, General. Leave now or your machinery will be destroyed.”
I glance at the woman, not only terrified but also shocked at her reply. There were at least over twenty-five tanks here.
Suddenly, the man began to laugh. “You’re not giving orders here, Woman.” His hand waved in the air, a signal of sorts. “We do not want you. Last warning or you die.”
“No”, she said, which followed a loud whir of machinery powering up.
However, something else happened, snow. Looking skyward, my palms lay open like a glove catching a ball. The cold subsistence was something I never seen before. Snow was really falling. The sound was gentle, but it seemed to be getting harder. Turning in front of me, I saw giant sized balls falling onto the tanks, and snow leisurely submerging them. The people inside quickly leapt out, which followed a flurry of lighting descending across the horizon. Looking at the sky over them, I do not think it was snow scarring them. It was the eye of the storm overhead, rotating and rotating, slowly becoming larger.
Glancing sideways, I saw Ororo whose eyes were glowing again. She stepped towards me, gently grabbing my arm, and into the storm, we went.
Chapter 4:
Whoever told you there was nothing in the mountains was dead wrong. Down a deadly cascade of ice, an old log cabin sat up high, seemingly inhabited. Trailing after this walking Storm, I followed. Ahead of each step she took, each arctic crevice slowly melted. Through the liquidize substance, I saw flowers arising. They sprouted swiftly, laying a royal pathway. These beautiful yet abnormal, natural abrasions were distinct. Something I have never seen before.
Closer to the peak, I was blinded by the sun’s edge, which was finally coming out to play. Its whimsical dance imitated a child running around. Each ray tickled my eyes, before running off. They left my body feeling warm, rejuvenated, and slightly disoriented. Miss Ororo stopped, and I did the same, almost knocking into her; we had reached the cabin’s door.
She knocked twice. The door slowly opened with a creek. A man in the doorway leaned inside gazing at us. Shadows covered the right side of his face. It was unnerving, but for some reason, I trusted this woman in front of me.
“Whom else would I trust?”
The man’s eye, gave his brown face an even colorized tone. Brown-and-brown: standard face and eye color, a perfect match of our people. His hair blended in with the shadows, and I saw Miss Ororo move closer towards the door.
“My apologies for being late,” she paused, gazing at the sloping man. “I had to call an old friend.”
The man leans further onto the door. I saw something white on the right side of his face. There was not much light so I could not tell what it was. I leaned further, and a snarky laugh escaped the man’s mouth.
“Didn’t I tell you,” he said, causally looking at the white-haired woman. “Whenever you call that ‘friend’ of yours, somehow a new person always has to live in my house.” The corner of his mouth upturns.
Miss Ororo seemed to disregard his statement. “I suppose you are wondering why I am here again.”
“No.” he replied, acting pensively. “You and your new friend can beat it.”
“Lord Ahmed has gone too far.” I saw her tightening her fist, maybe angry with him, and especially the Dictator. “I should have dealt with him before I left.”
“You can’t.” I spoke up, and then averted my eyes when theirs locked on me. “I m-mean, Lord Ahmed’s Seiko won’t let you.”
“The kid is right, Ororo.” I looked up at the man, who glanced at the snowy haired sorceress, then back at me. “This will not be a walk in the dessert, even for you.”
“Ahmed new bodyguards, the Seiko are dangerous.” He sighed, and his eye acted if it was bored. “Those traitors are a shame to mutants everywhere.”
“Mutants, they are mutants?” I thought. We were always led to believe the Seiko were super soldiers. Then again, those were rumors. My Dad always told me: never listen to them. “Then that means…”
“Do not fret, child.” Miss Ororo said, tilting her head towards me, smiling. “I will end his reign of terror.”
Her eyes shifted backwards then forward. “I will repay you as soon as this is over.” She continued. “Please watch over, Ara, until I come back.”
“So your name is Ara, huh.” He said, eyes wandering towards me. “Why the heck, did your family give you a Greek name?”
I slanted my eyes downward, and I prepared to answer, but Miss Ororo cut me off. “If I did not know any better, I would say that you actually read.” She smiled at me, winking once.
“Whatever.” The man said. “Come inside.”
He opened the door wide, and I finally saw his face. The entire right side was bandaged, a black eye-patch rest over them. Scars ran from the un-bandaged spot on his lower chin upward.
“You know, I don’t like babysitting brats, especially ones who can’t stop staring.”
“Stray,” Ororo said, her glare providing enough words to shut the man up. The sorceress convinced me to move towards the door, and she placed her hands onto my shoulders. “Be safe." She whispered. "He may not look like much or trustworthy, but he will never abandon a fellow mutant. “
Without another word, she floated upward by a gust of wind. From near the doorway, I watched as she flew off.
“Mister, will she be all right?” I asked worriedly, glancing back at the man. “You know Lord Ahmed orders: mutants killed on sight.”
“Call me Stray, girl,” he said, tilting his head upward, looking at the same flying figure, becoming smaller and smaller. “I don’t know, but they got a Storm coming.”
__________________________________________________________________________
A/N: I am going to try out writing short chapters with this story, that way I can post them more often. I did not like Chapter 3 much; I may edit that some more.
Whoever told you there was nothing in the mountains was dead wrong. Down a deadly cascade of ice, an old log cabin sat up high, seemingly inhabited. Trailing after this walking Storm, I followed. Ahead of each step she took, each arctic crevice slowly melted. Through the liquidize substance, I saw flowers arising. They sprouted swiftly, laying a royal pathway. These beautiful yet abnormal, natural abrasions were distinct. Something I have never seen before.
Closer to the peak, I was blinded by the sun’s edge, which was finally coming out to play. Its whimsical dance imitated a child running around. Each ray tickled my eyes, before running off. They left my body feeling warm, rejuvenated, and slightly disoriented. Miss Ororo stopped, and I did the same, almost knocking into her; we had reached the cabin’s door.
She knocked twice. The door slowly opened with a creek. A man in the doorway leaned inside gazing at us. Shadows covered the right side of his face. It was unnerving, but for some reason, I trusted this woman in front of me.
“Whom else would I trust?”
The man’s eye, gave his brown face an even colorized tone. Brown-and-brown: standard face and eye color, a perfect match of our people. His hair blended in with the shadows, and I saw Miss Ororo move closer towards the door.
“My apologies for being late,” she paused, gazing at the sloping man. “I had to call an old friend.”
The man leans further onto the door. I saw something white on the right side of his face. There was not much light so I could not tell what it was. I leaned further, and a snarky laugh escaped the man’s mouth.
“Didn’t I tell you,” he said, causally looking at the white-haired woman. “Whenever you call that ‘friend’ of yours, somehow a new person always has to live in my house.” The corner of his mouth upturns.
Miss Ororo seemed to disregard his statement. “I suppose you are wondering why I am here again.”
“No.” he replied, acting pensively. “You and your new friend can beat it.”
“Lord Ahmed has gone too far.” I saw her tightening her fist, maybe angry with him, and especially the Dictator. “I should have dealt with him before I left.”
“You can’t.” I spoke up, and then averted my eyes when theirs locked on me. “I m-mean, Lord Ahmed’s Seiko won’t let you.”
“The kid is right, Ororo.” I looked up at the man, who glanced at the snowy haired sorceress, then back at me. “This will not be a walk in the dessert, even for you.”
“Ahmed new bodyguards, the Seiko are dangerous.” He sighed, and his eye acted if it was bored. “Those traitors are a shame to mutants everywhere.”
“Mutants, they are mutants?” I thought. We were always led to believe the Seiko were super soldiers. Then again, those were rumors. My Dad always told me: never listen to them. “Then that means…”
“Do not fret, child.” Miss Ororo said, tilting her head towards me, smiling. “I will end his reign of terror.”
Her eyes shifted backwards then forward. “I will repay you as soon as this is over.” She continued. “Please watch over, Ara, until I come back.”
“So your name is Ara, huh.” He said, eyes wandering towards me. “Why the heck, did your family give you a Greek name?”
I slanted my eyes downward, and I prepared to answer, but Miss Ororo cut me off. “If I did not know any better, I would say that you actually read.” She smiled at me, winking once.
“Whatever.” The man said. “Come inside.”
He opened the door wide, and I finally saw his face. The entire right side was bandaged, a black eye-patch rest over them. Scars ran from the un-bandaged spot on his lower chin upward.
“You know, I don’t like babysitting brats, especially ones who can’t stop staring.”
“Stray,” Ororo said, her glare providing enough words to shut the man up. The sorceress convinced me to move towards the door, and she placed her hands onto my shoulders. “Be safe." She whispered. "He may not look like much or trustworthy, but he will never abandon a fellow mutant. “
Without another word, she floated upward by a gust of wind. From near the doorway, I watched as she flew off.
“Mister, will she be all right?” I asked worriedly, glancing back at the man. “You know Lord Ahmed orders: mutants killed on sight.”
“Call me Stray, girl,” he said, tilting his head upward, looking at the same flying figure, becoming smaller and smaller. “I don’t know, but they got a Storm coming.”
__________________________________________________________________________
A/N: I am going to try out writing short chapters with this story, that way I can post them more often. I did not like Chapter 3 much; I may edit that some more.