The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story/poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. Read more here.
The storm rolled in the distance, clouds growing darker, heavier, with rain and whatever else lay inside. He didn’t know. Nobody knew. Since the Change, the Weather seemed a force of its own, changing on a whim. Those like him, meteorologists, were shut out. None of their knowledge meant anything now. The weather was, for all purposes, a living being holding the world, and him, hostage.
And so he waited at the window. Those who’d worked by his side were dying, one after one after one. He was next or the storm would not have come. Soon life and things wouldn’t matter. The apartment. The furniture, the painting, his favorite wine. Pictures of friends and family long gone.
In his world, alone was a physical presence looming just behind.
The building quivered. He let the storm roll closer, engulf his building in its death-grip. Climbing into the open window, he dove into the heart of the storm. For the briefest second, he felt the storm one with him. For the briefest second, he understood. And then, he was gone.