Post by The Architect on May 27, 2015 18:51:46 GMT
It was all happening again.
He was six. He was hiding in the first-floor closet, just like he'd been told. He was wrapped up in his blanket to feel safe and warm. He felt neither. The howling wind outside made him think of the eerie, lonesome calls of the Timberwolves he heard late at night. The way the walls shook and trembled reminded him of a small, scared creature. They reminded him of himself. The deluge of rain that hammered on the roof sounded like an entire sea was being poured out of a huge bucket onto their house alone. He thought for sure that he'd be flooded out and washed away any minute. He was scared, and lonely. His mother and father, weatherponies both, had sent him into the closet to hide before they'd left. He wanted to know why, but the command mixed with something resembling fear in his father's voice made him go without question. That seemed ages ago. He hugged himself tighter in the thick wool blanket against his shivering. It wasn't very cold, but he was shivering anyway.
Even though he was trying not to listen; trying to focus on the warm, safe comfort of the dark closet he was in, he couldn't push out the raucous din of gale-force winds and thunder outside. The rain became a droning presence in his thoughts that drowned out all else. But then, just above the cacophonous chorus of wind and rain he heard a splitting crack, followed not by thunder but by a long, creaking groan of protesting wood. Before he could form any coherent thoughts on what it might have been, a world-shattering CRASH brought his world down around his ears. He released an involuntary scream that he'd been holding when the closet doors burst open and splintered like grass thrown into a breeze. The gargantuan barrel-chested trunk of the tree that had fallen on the house ground to a frustrated halt barely a meter from his side. The crumbled section of wall that used to be the back of the closet pressed down uncomfortably hard into his side, pressed down by the girth of the tree.
It was hard to breathe, but he noted that he still could. Water began to drip down around the tree and onto him, soaking everything. The roar of the wind had died down just a little, and he could hear himself think. The shock began to wear off and allowed panic to take its place when he realized he was pinned by the massive tree. He attempted calling for help, but he couldn't get the breath he needed for it. It was still dark. His own tears mixed with the raindrops that dripped mockingly from the bottom of the tree.
- - - - -
He regained consciousness with a desperate gasp of breath. His heart thumped like a tremulous bass drum in his chest. As he gasped breaths and escaped his memories, he forced himself to breathe more easily and clear the cobwebs from his mind. He could breathe. There was light. He heard voices. It was a hospital. He hated hospitals, but at least he could breathe. He lifted a hoof to wipe the memory-fuelled tear trails from his eyes, only then noticing that one of them had a thick cotton patch over it. He moaned pathetically when the memories of what had actually just happened to him rushed back in. As his heart slowed, the headache that felt like a mountain was resting on his temples made itself known, and he felt the other various cuts and bruises he'd sustained from the crash landing.
"Uuuuugghnnn..."
He was six. He was hiding in the first-floor closet, just like he'd been told. He was wrapped up in his blanket to feel safe and warm. He felt neither. The howling wind outside made him think of the eerie, lonesome calls of the Timberwolves he heard late at night. The way the walls shook and trembled reminded him of a small, scared creature. They reminded him of himself. The deluge of rain that hammered on the roof sounded like an entire sea was being poured out of a huge bucket onto their house alone. He thought for sure that he'd be flooded out and washed away any minute. He was scared, and lonely. His mother and father, weatherponies both, had sent him into the closet to hide before they'd left. He wanted to know why, but the command mixed with something resembling fear in his father's voice made him go without question. That seemed ages ago. He hugged himself tighter in the thick wool blanket against his shivering. It wasn't very cold, but he was shivering anyway.
Even though he was trying not to listen; trying to focus on the warm, safe comfort of the dark closet he was in, he couldn't push out the raucous din of gale-force winds and thunder outside. The rain became a droning presence in his thoughts that drowned out all else. But then, just above the cacophonous chorus of wind and rain he heard a splitting crack, followed not by thunder but by a long, creaking groan of protesting wood. Before he could form any coherent thoughts on what it might have been, a world-shattering CRASH brought his world down around his ears. He released an involuntary scream that he'd been holding when the closet doors burst open and splintered like grass thrown into a breeze. The gargantuan barrel-chested trunk of the tree that had fallen on the house ground to a frustrated halt barely a meter from his side. The crumbled section of wall that used to be the back of the closet pressed down uncomfortably hard into his side, pressed down by the girth of the tree.
It was hard to breathe, but he noted that he still could. Water began to drip down around the tree and onto him, soaking everything. The roar of the wind had died down just a little, and he could hear himself think. The shock began to wear off and allowed panic to take its place when he realized he was pinned by the massive tree. He attempted calling for help, but he couldn't get the breath he needed for it. It was still dark. His own tears mixed with the raindrops that dripped mockingly from the bottom of the tree.
- - - - -
He regained consciousness with a desperate gasp of breath. His heart thumped like a tremulous bass drum in his chest. As he gasped breaths and escaped his memories, he forced himself to breathe more easily and clear the cobwebs from his mind. He could breathe. There was light. He heard voices. It was a hospital. He hated hospitals, but at least he could breathe. He lifted a hoof to wipe the memory-fuelled tear trails from his eyes, only then noticing that one of them had a thick cotton patch over it. He moaned pathetically when the memories of what had actually just happened to him rushed back in. As his heart slowed, the headache that felt like a mountain was resting on his temples made itself known, and he felt the other various cuts and bruises he'd sustained from the crash landing.
"Uuuuugghnnn..."