Vulnerable (by Heather)

Use these 3 words in a story: hurricane, flashlight, lawnmower

“What the devil is that?” Angie shouted, over the noise of the wind and rain beating against the windows and the tin roof overhead. She removed her eye glasses and peered, nose pressed against the glass, at the dark object that was moving slowly across the lawn.

She felt Don’s breath on her neck as he crouched behind her, hands on his knees. “Jesus, it’s the lawnmower,” he exclaimed. “The lawnmower’s gone self-propelled.”

“What’s it doing out there? You should have put it away, you knucklehead,” Angie yelled in the direction of his ear.

Don rubbed at his grey head with the old bath mat and shouted back. “I didn’t have time, I told you. The rain hit so suddenly I near drowned as it was.”

Angie had no reply to that. When Don had bowled in a few minutes ago, he looked as if he’d just climbed out of the surf after a boating accident. Angie had helped him slide the patio door behind him, then had shuffled off for a towel. The bathmat was the first thing that had crossed her eye, so she’d grabbed that instead and thrown it at him while she resumed her watch at the window.

Don put a hand on her shoulder to support himself while he continued the drying process.

She turned to him, speaking sharply to hide her concern. “Stand back and quit dripping on me! We’re in the middle of a hurricane and I don’t need you leaning on me.”

“Nah, it’s not even cyclone season,” Don reassured her at top volume. “But it’s a hell of a storm.”

A zigzag of lighting burned its way across the sky.

“Whoa, that was some flash of light,” Angie shouted.

“A flashlight?” Don yelled. “Whatja say?”

A deafening crack of thunder caused her to abandon her caustic reply. “Maybe we should give Frank a call,” she shouted, “and let him know what’s going on. He’ll know whether this is a serious …” Angie was interrupted by the spectacle of the glass picnic table erupting from its spot on the patio in front of them. They staggered awkwardly back from the window and clutched at each other while the table aimed toward them. It veered to the left at the last minute and there was a crash as it struck the deck siding.

“My Lord!” they exclaimed in unison. A shower of crumbled glass hurtled across the deck. They looked at one another, horrified. The grandkids had given them that picnic table last Christmas and for certain it wasn’t going to see another one.

Thunder crashed again, though it felt to Angie that a little of the force had gone out of the wind.

One of her hands crept into Don’s, the other gently massaged her heart. He turned to her, erasing the anxiety from his lined face.

“Ah, well, nothing we can do with that until the storm settles down. Come on, Ange. Let’s put on the kettle and have a cuppa. That’ll settle our feathers.” He folded the bath mat, laying it carefully on the footstool. He tugged at her hand and they headed together toward the kitchen.