The Hurricane

The wind whips and rattles our storm shudders. They are metal curtains fixed onto the outside of our windows. They snap shut in the center and lock with a key, blocking out daylight. I’m not sure if we are protecting ourselves from a hurricane or a zombie apocalypse. I find the darkness soothing. It reminds me of when I put trash bags on my windows in Los Angeles, and my neighbors thought I was doing meth. My dad and I stocked up on food in case the power goes out. Truthfully, I ate half the protein bars as soon as I got home. My brother and dad watch the weather reports on loop. Meteorologists have never been busier and this is their moment to shine. They stand in rumpled suits and dresses, in front of greenscreen weather maps and blabber about wind and cataclysmic conditions. The TV suddenly changes to shots of flooded streets, cars that have become submarines, broken Stop signs peeking through the murky surface. I go online and see a half-naked man in snorkel gear riding a bicycle, headed towards the ocean. Florida is a shit show.