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Gusts and Gales

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Hot skelly

The wind had fooled us.

"Nice breeze," many had said. I had lived in a city where cool weather such as wind was uncommon. Because of this, most were rather accepting of it. Nobody took any sort of caution or notice as the wind began to make itself at home, making its light conditions more and more apparent. It had corrupted the city with its calm, relieving charm, turning its unfamiliar touch into a welcomed pleasure. Once it had taken hold of the land, it began to take its real form.

The wind had irritated us.

The usual days of breeze had turned itself into a consistent pest. It would always blow objects over and carry away personal belongings with a tight tug. It was nothing dangerous or harmful, but there were moments when many began to question its place, becoming more of an unwelcome visitor. We hadn't seen calm, windless weather in a good number of weeks, which started to make some worry that we were going through a form of climate change. Those who studied the wind's accumulation urged everybody not to worry, that this was most likely a series of small storms that will pass soon. We should have left there. I should have left even sooner.

The wind had controlled us.

The gentle breezes had disappeared. What was left of the winds were its constant, powerful gales. I saw this when some decided to try and leave the city. Something about it all had seemed unnatural. The gusts and gales seemed too consistent, as if it were more of a conscious spirit than just heavy, chaotic weather. When everyone was indoors, safe from its forces, it seemed to calm down, sometimes going back to what appeared normal. The moment when one would try to get out of town, the wind had returned, with power great enough to sometimes blow vehicles off the road. This kept many in fear. Weather channels and reporters urged everyone to stay in shelter, as it was beginning to look more like a hurricane of sorts. It still didn't seem right, even for a severe storm.

The wind had scared us.

The fear of the wind began with the experience of one man. He had weighed his car down, confident that it could resist the forces of the wind and make it out of the city safely. When all seemed to be calm, not a single breeze in the air, he ran for his vehicle. Before he could even reach the door, the wind had returned. It didn't blow him away; it more so began to cut his skin, as if one had dragged lines of blades across his arms, legs, and face. He managed to make it back indoors before his injuries got too serious. This was mentioned on the final news broadcast in the city, and then we had lost power. I got a message on the phone saying that rescue teams were on the way, that we would be saved soon as long as we stayed indoors. I wish that had been true.

The wind had mutilated us.

My mind and memory are scarred. I had nightmares from what I saw the next few days. I wasn't even sure if I could call it wind anymore. Many ran outside, believing it had vanished, only for it to return when they were left defenseless. It cut them to the bone. The wind didn't immediately disintegrate its victims, but instead killed them slowly. I watched as others attempted to run to shelter as their clothes, then skin, then muscles were stripped away from them for as long as a minute. Every last piece of flesh was ripped from their bones, until nothing was left but a bloodied, dark red skeleton. I couldn't bear to watch their suffering anymore. I boarded my windows at that point, but I still heard the screams, screams that would come and go at intervals for days and nights.

The wind had destroyed us.

I had resorted to hiding, occasionally peeking outside through a slit in my boarded windows. I don't know if there were any others left in the city to look for. After others finally stopped trying to run, the wind had started to look for us. This sounds crazy, but I actually felt that it was a sort of living being at that point. It began to make its way into homes and buildings. It would find one looking outside into the calm streets, and then it would move in, shattering the windows and cutting its victims like a knife. Since I had stopped looking out my windows, I don't think it ever saw me. But the screams of others had gone silent.

The wind had left us.

I had run out of options. I was running out of water and food, and wasn't sure if rescue was coming at all or if it had been destroyed a while ago. I decided I was going to just step outside and let the forces of the wind take me, as death was going to be eventual.

As I opened my door and stepped outside, I was greeted with an alarming calmness. Outside was silent, and I didn't feel so much a breeze on my skin. I wasn't sure if the forces were toying with me or not, so I walked the ruined streets for a while. The streets were lined with broken glass, toppled cars, and scraped bones and skulls. There were sections of walls that were completely painted with blood, almost in an organized manner.

After almost an hour of no activity, no signs that the winds were still there, it seemed to me that it had vanished. It had assailed the city completely, only to leave after I heard everyone silenced. Crazy as it may be, I have only one speculation as to what could have transpired: the wind was, in some strange, twisted way, something living. It had come to my city with only the intent to massacre and had killed off every individual it could find. It never found me, so I suppose that makes me the "lone survivor."

I'm not joyful, though. I'm terrified, more so than before, all because of a single question:

If this is a living creature, and it's finished its desires here, where has it gone to now?



Written by Emeryy
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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