The Storm

“The Storm”



The mechanical noise starts up.
He hears it.
Feels it.
It is coming slowly up the hallway
to his room.

It is a dark and stormy night.
That all too famous line.
And it has come back to him tonight.
It has come back to say, “Boo!” and laugh.
“I love you,” it says.

Little green man.
Muscular, little green man
slips through the closet door,
back out now looking at him,
then to the hallway
and back to him with a worried face.
It is coming closer and little green man
runs back into the closet,
little green sparks flying.

It keeps coming up the long hallway.
He hears it.
He sees it in his mind.
Machinery.
It is raw machinery.
It is coming.
Coming to say, “I love you,”
with grinding, smoking gears.

In the window blinks the all seeing eye.
The large eye looking, seeing, scanning
in the window.
Looking to watch and hear it say, “I love you.”

Left and right,
back and forth,
watching, blinking, waiting.
Big and brown.
“Eye's on you!”
Grinding up the hallway.

He feels the “hand” softly rest on his shoulder
as he lies in his bed for a moment that feels like an eternity.
The “fingers” find that little soft spot
between the neck and the shoulder then “Press!”

Where is the little green man?

“Pressing!”

The eye blinks and stares.

“Digging! Pressing until it hurts so damn bad!”

Finally it stops.
He lies in bed shaking underneath the covers,
afraid to open his eyes and see the all seeing eye looking back at him.

It is gone.
The machinery is gone.
Cowardly, muscular little green man has long been gone.

Get out of bed.
He gets out of bed.
The storm has gone for tonight
but tomorrow night is just around the corner.


--msl2024