Monsoon
New member
"If you or a loved one manifest symptoms of PMPD, consult a local PMPD hotline to schedule an appointment with a Parametabolic Specialist. Don't ... [pause] ... wait too long."
- Monsoon on Hard Times, Harder Questions with Jake Flanagan, 03/10/2029 broadcast.
The storm had been raging for the last four days. The rain was unstoppable. A tornado had touched down on the third day; Jimmy didn't know what the damage was. He was thirteen and locked up in the house with his dad and brother. They stayed away from the windows and listened for the emergency broadcasts. This kind of thing had never happened in Stockton, Indiana. It was a small town, barely over five thousand people in it, and completely unprepared for a disaster of this level. Supercells came and went, but Stockton remained. But those storms didn't last days. Headaches didn't last for months. Jimmy thought he might've had a tumor.
When dad was asleep, Jimmy's brother went to the window to watch the water flow down their street, to watch the trees as they bent in the wind. When the storm first hit, the wind had been bad. Then it kept getting stronger. The circuit breaker boxes had all popped up and down the road. A tree had blocked the road outside. They unplugged all their appliances, which meant no GameCube. They had a few battery powered LED lights strewn about, so they could read, but that was about it. Usually, dad kept quiet.
People had been stranded at their places of business. The national guard was mobilizing, but couldn't make it into the town because of the freak weather. Jimmy's brother kept staring. Sometimes he'd ask him if they were going to die. Jimmy told him to shut up. The headaches had been awful and the rain struck the roof like bullets. The wind sounded like screeching, louder and louder. Only exhaustion let them sleep, but the storm didn't die down.
The windows broke on the third day, and it was a miracle that Jimmy's brother hadn't been standing in front of them when they had. It was the same story up and down the street. Nobody had gone outside - nobody wanted to be washed away. When the broadcasts had started, the only thing the weathermen kept saying was unprecedented, like everything else that was going on in the world. But it hadn't made national news.
No, Los Angeles had just exploded. A freak weather event in Stockton wasn't on anyone's minds but the town's, and the local government's. All anyone could talk about was David Thompson. Everyone knew someone who'd died.
Jimmy held onto his brother, huddled in the corner away from the broken glass. He held onto his head, which felt like it was going to split open. Sometimes he wanted to punch his brother in the face - he wouldn't stop crying. He thought it was the end of the world. It might as well have been. If this were happening everywhere, soon enough everyone would be dead, and nobody would know. They'd all be gone. He felt so damn tired. Sometimes the pain in his head was so bad he wanted to cry out, but that'd wake dad up, and he didn't want that.
Thunder boomed. The wind sounded like German planes. He'd remembered those from history class - dive bombers, fitted with wind-driven sirens meant to terrify their targets below. That was what it sounded like for days. When he could be alone - when everyone else was asleep - he went to his room and punched at the walls. First he slapped them with open palms, then he felt his knuckles curling. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't. His head hurt too much, and the wind was too loud, and he missed mom. And he made sure to be back downstairs before dad woke up, because it was dangerous upstairs.
Fucking fuck, he wanted to scream. There were no words. He wanted the water to rush in and take it all away - the car, the porch, the house, the couch with dad and his brother, all of it. And he didn't know why. There was no reason for it. It was his heartbeat that was deafening now. Blood in his ears, pounding thum-thum-thum-thum, and he was trying to make it stop. They hadn't seen the sun for days and it was driving him crazy. Los Angeles was gone and Stockton was next. Someone was doing this to them. That was the only answer, right?
He thought about waking dad up, then thought better of it. He grabbed his liquor instead and downed it. The taste made him want to puke, but he'd heard that it was good for stress, yeah? His brother tugged at his sleeve and told him not to. Jimmy told him to shut up and finished the bottle. He was a thirteen now and they were going to die. He'd never been drunk. He'd never even kissed a girl. So what the fuck did it matter?
The thunder was so loud it made his eardrums burst. Or was that the headache? He felt like he was going to throw up now. That'd be great - trapped in the living room with puke on the carpet and a hurricane outside. How could there even be a hurricane in Stockton - ?
Jimmy shoved his brother away from him. He started crying and dad started to stir, one eye opening, then the other. Jimmy stumbled backward and ran for the door. He pulled it open and rain flooded in - the wind buffeted him and he felt like he would be thrown sideways. The porch was gone, and the house would be next. He was underwater, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He fell forward into the rain, expecting to faceplant, but he never hit the ground. At the edge of his perception, he felt fingers on his ankle, but he was being lifted, not by the man holding onto him, but - oh god - by the wind. His mouth opened, but he didn't scream. The storm was taking him.
"Not you too - not you too - James, grab something, grab something, James - " he heard dad shout. He looked down at his feet and saw his father clutching the doorway, teeth grit, fully up and awake now - pleading - holding onto him for dear life. There was no sun - he didn't know if it was day or night out, but it was bright. Lightning. Lightning everywhere. His skin - he was drenched, but his hairs were standing on end. He smelled something that was like...chlorine bleach.
"James, grab something! I love - "
Another flash of lightning, this time on their street. Sparks went up as a powerline went down. His dad yelled and Jimmy watched him let go, fingers grasping, powerless. Jimmy was sucked into the sky, but not quickly. Was he seeing in slow motion? Was he about to die? No. Everything else was still moving fast. He watched an upturned car slide on its roof across the pavement, carried by galeforce. He saw the roof come off the neighbors' house. And he saw the vortex now, impossibly thin, plunging down from the sky directly onto their cul-de-sac, taking chunks out of the street. And the ground drew further away. It looked like an amusement park from the top of a rollercoaster.
He was in the tornado now. Jimmy expected to die, but he didn't. It was freezing cold - he felt his teeth chattering, but he kept his eyes open through the downpour. His heart caught in his throat. Stockton was gone. No, it was changed...submerged. He saw the hospital where he'd been born. He saw the Dairy Queen he went to with friends. He saw his high school in the middle of a lake that'd never been there until now. As he looked down, he realized he was still upright - feet towards the Earth, head towards the clouds. When he fell, he knew it'd be better to hit head-first, but he didn't feel like he was falling. He felt weirdly like he was swimming. Maybe he was in a dream.
And the storm - he was in it now, but this high up, he could see it stretch across the horizon. This storm was going to eat the world.
Part of the boy dared to think it was true. The other part prayed it wasn't. They worked in tandem. Jack Gordon Gleeson. Andrew Mitchell McCormack. David Oswald Thompson. Ulysses James Burke.
He had to believe.
Jimmy screamed at the thunder around him, and it listened. He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. He felt the clouds, the rain, the wind. He could touch them - he felt their weight. He tried to bring his hands together, and felt the sky resist him. He grit his teeth like he was biting down on leather, and his lips pulled apart in a grimace. He shouted with his lungs, and the heavens answered, cracking open to show the sun. Then it was quiet.
Then he knew it, knew what those intermittent headaches had been.
They had been forecasts.
- Monsoon on Hard Times, Harder Questions with Jake Flanagan, 03/10/2029 broadcast.
The storm had been raging for the last four days. The rain was unstoppable. A tornado had touched down on the third day; Jimmy didn't know what the damage was. He was thirteen and locked up in the house with his dad and brother. They stayed away from the windows and listened for the emergency broadcasts. This kind of thing had never happened in Stockton, Indiana. It was a small town, barely over five thousand people in it, and completely unprepared for a disaster of this level. Supercells came and went, but Stockton remained. But those storms didn't last days. Headaches didn't last for months. Jimmy thought he might've had a tumor.
When dad was asleep, Jimmy's brother went to the window to watch the water flow down their street, to watch the trees as they bent in the wind. When the storm first hit, the wind had been bad. Then it kept getting stronger. The circuit breaker boxes had all popped up and down the road. A tree had blocked the road outside. They unplugged all their appliances, which meant no GameCube. They had a few battery powered LED lights strewn about, so they could read, but that was about it. Usually, dad kept quiet.
People had been stranded at their places of business. The national guard was mobilizing, but couldn't make it into the town because of the freak weather. Jimmy's brother kept staring. Sometimes he'd ask him if they were going to die. Jimmy told him to shut up. The headaches had been awful and the rain struck the roof like bullets. The wind sounded like screeching, louder and louder. Only exhaustion let them sleep, but the storm didn't die down.
The windows broke on the third day, and it was a miracle that Jimmy's brother hadn't been standing in front of them when they had. It was the same story up and down the street. Nobody had gone outside - nobody wanted to be washed away. When the broadcasts had started, the only thing the weathermen kept saying was unprecedented, like everything else that was going on in the world. But it hadn't made national news.
No, Los Angeles had just exploded. A freak weather event in Stockton wasn't on anyone's minds but the town's, and the local government's. All anyone could talk about was David Thompson. Everyone knew someone who'd died.
Jimmy held onto his brother, huddled in the corner away from the broken glass. He held onto his head, which felt like it was going to split open. Sometimes he wanted to punch his brother in the face - he wouldn't stop crying. He thought it was the end of the world. It might as well have been. If this were happening everywhere, soon enough everyone would be dead, and nobody would know. They'd all be gone. He felt so damn tired. Sometimes the pain in his head was so bad he wanted to cry out, but that'd wake dad up, and he didn't want that.
Thunder boomed. The wind sounded like German planes. He'd remembered those from history class - dive bombers, fitted with wind-driven sirens meant to terrify their targets below. That was what it sounded like for days. When he could be alone - when everyone else was asleep - he went to his room and punched at the walls. First he slapped them with open palms, then he felt his knuckles curling. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't. His head hurt too much, and the wind was too loud, and he missed mom. And he made sure to be back downstairs before dad woke up, because it was dangerous upstairs.
Fucking fuck, he wanted to scream. There were no words. He wanted the water to rush in and take it all away - the car, the porch, the house, the couch with dad and his brother, all of it. And he didn't know why. There was no reason for it. It was his heartbeat that was deafening now. Blood in his ears, pounding thum-thum-thum-thum, and he was trying to make it stop. They hadn't seen the sun for days and it was driving him crazy. Los Angeles was gone and Stockton was next. Someone was doing this to them. That was the only answer, right?
He thought about waking dad up, then thought better of it. He grabbed his liquor instead and downed it. The taste made him want to puke, but he'd heard that it was good for stress, yeah? His brother tugged at his sleeve and told him not to. Jimmy told him to shut up and finished the bottle. He was a thirteen now and they were going to die. He'd never been drunk. He'd never even kissed a girl. So what the fuck did it matter?
The thunder was so loud it made his eardrums burst. Or was that the headache? He felt like he was going to throw up now. That'd be great - trapped in the living room with puke on the carpet and a hurricane outside. How could there even be a hurricane in Stockton - ?
Jimmy shoved his brother away from him. He started crying and dad started to stir, one eye opening, then the other. Jimmy stumbled backward and ran for the door. He pulled it open and rain flooded in - the wind buffeted him and he felt like he would be thrown sideways. The porch was gone, and the house would be next. He was underwater, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He fell forward into the rain, expecting to faceplant, but he never hit the ground. At the edge of his perception, he felt fingers on his ankle, but he was being lifted, not by the man holding onto him, but - oh god - by the wind. His mouth opened, but he didn't scream. The storm was taking him.
"Not you too - not you too - James, grab something, grab something, James - " he heard dad shout. He looked down at his feet and saw his father clutching the doorway, teeth grit, fully up and awake now - pleading - holding onto him for dear life. There was no sun - he didn't know if it was day or night out, but it was bright. Lightning. Lightning everywhere. His skin - he was drenched, but his hairs were standing on end. He smelled something that was like...chlorine bleach.
"James, grab something! I love - "
Another flash of lightning, this time on their street. Sparks went up as a powerline went down. His dad yelled and Jimmy watched him let go, fingers grasping, powerless. Jimmy was sucked into the sky, but not quickly. Was he seeing in slow motion? Was he about to die? No. Everything else was still moving fast. He watched an upturned car slide on its roof across the pavement, carried by galeforce. He saw the roof come off the neighbors' house. And he saw the vortex now, impossibly thin, plunging down from the sky directly onto their cul-de-sac, taking chunks out of the street. And the ground drew further away. It looked like an amusement park from the top of a rollercoaster.
He was in the tornado now. Jimmy expected to die, but he didn't. It was freezing cold - he felt his teeth chattering, but he kept his eyes open through the downpour. His heart caught in his throat. Stockton was gone. No, it was changed...submerged. He saw the hospital where he'd been born. He saw the Dairy Queen he went to with friends. He saw his high school in the middle of a lake that'd never been there until now. As he looked down, he realized he was still upright - feet towards the Earth, head towards the clouds. When he fell, he knew it'd be better to hit head-first, but he didn't feel like he was falling. He felt weirdly like he was swimming. Maybe he was in a dream.
And the storm - he was in it now, but this high up, he could see it stretch across the horizon. This storm was going to eat the world.
Part of the boy dared to think it was true. The other part prayed it wasn't. They worked in tandem. Jack Gordon Gleeson. Andrew Mitchell McCormack. David Oswald Thompson. Ulysses James Burke.
He had to believe.
Jimmy screamed at the thunder around him, and it listened. He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. He felt the clouds, the rain, the wind. He could touch them - he felt their weight. He tried to bring his hands together, and felt the sky resist him. He grit his teeth like he was biting down on leather, and his lips pulled apart in a grimace. He shouted with his lungs, and the heavens answered, cracking open to show the sun. Then it was quiet.
Then he knew it, knew what those intermittent headaches had been.
They had been forecasts.