In the Storm: A We-Write Ending

If you didn't know, the @freewritehouse's We Writes have returned! I'm not eligible to win (I'm the prize sponsor) but this week I felt inspired to write an ending anyway. If you want to try, check out the original post here.

The beginning:

The clattering of the tea cup against its saucer rang through the formal living room. Its hand-painted periwinkles and gold leaf rim were normally safe in the hands of the Countess, but today the cup chattered in unsettling clinks. The noise disturbed the Countess’ attempts at composure, so she placed the china safely on the glass table before her. As she did so, the door opened suddenly, making her jump farther back on the silk settee.

“George, must you enter so frighteningly quickly?” She accosted the man, who remained by the doorway.

“My apologies, your ladyship. I will do my best to be less…frightening, in the future.” The butler gave a small smile, to which the Countess responded with a relieved chuckle. Taking her laughter as forgiveness, he walked into the well-decorated space.

“I suppose it’s just this storm that has me on edge,” she confessed, with a brief glimpse to the ever-darkening scene beyond the window’s delicate frame. From their place on the hill, they could ordinarily see a small town in the distance, with vibrant green mountains beyond that. But today all charm was washed out in the sea of deepening purples, grays, and blacks descending into the valley. The Countess had watched as it grew closer, as the rumbles became roars, until it was too much for her to take.

“I thought your ladyship might wish to know that there has been a letter from town,” George ventured. The Countess perked up at the news, and eagerly took the envelope from his gloved hands. He continued, “Your brother has decided to wait out the storm at his office. He feels, and I must agree, that it would be too dangerous to ride back in such weather.”

“At least he’s indoors,” she sighed, “though I do feel he’d be safer here.”

“I understand your fears,” he comforted, “but all storms must—” A flash of light burst into the room, accompanied by a thunderous boom. The china rattled on the table, and the pair felt the very floor beneath them shake. It was enough to crack George’s professionalism into a primal fear, a fear reflected in the Countess’ eyes.

My Ending:

Instinctively, George moved between the Countess and the window. The rumbling continued, the vibration traveling through the soles of his shoes and up his legs. The china reached a high pitched frenzy as it danced on the glass table. The light remained, pulsing in its brightness but not fading.

"What's happening?" the Countess whispered.

"I don't know," he whispered back taking a step toward the window.

"George! Stay here!"

"I will your ladyship, but I think I see something. I just need to get a better look..."

"No! I forbid you to take one more step! You'll get too close. You'll..." her voice trailed off.

He hesitated, something in her voice triggered a memory. Another afternoon storm when he was a young boy, the rumbling and light that didn't fade. His father's strong hands holding his shoulders, keeping him from running towards the light. He'd wanted to go, to touch the center, to feel its warmth on his face. The rumbling had made his legs move, pull against his father's hands as he tried to run. Then it had passed, and everything had changed. Young Master Lukas, only a few years older than he at the time, had disappeared in the light. George remembered his father, then the butler of the house, explaining they were never to talk about it. During the years of silence he'd forgotten.

Back in the present he turned away from the window, though it still pulled on his soul. Standing between it and the Countess he placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

"I won't leave you," he said, closing his eyes to shut out the light. She nodded, closing her eyes and resting a hand on his.

Then the rumbling stopped and they opened their eyes. The light had disappeared. The Countess took a deep breath in, beginning to relax in the silence.

"Mother? Mother?" A boy's voice called out. The Countess held her breath again. George turned towards the voice. In the groomed garden outside the window stood a boy.

"My God," George said. The Countess stood and followed his gaze. Looking out the window, her tears began to flow.



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