It is currently raining and I love it. I love rain so much. Especially in the summer, when the air is hot but the rain is cold and it brings up all the delicious outside smells and it clears up just as the sun is setting and the air is green and there’s a rainbow and you go out to look at it barefoot in the wet grass.
I like weather in general, actually, weather is just cool. There are such specific vibes to it, and because it made up of temperatures and smells and specific colors weather is a really big part of memory. And weather can be an incredible device for conveying emotion in writing. Not just like ‘oh a character died so now it must rain and they must be sad’. Frustration with the weather is one of my favorite things, like if it’s very windy and it’s hard to see and get anything done and the character keeps grumping about it, or when they are stuck in a snowstorm and the cold makes everyone irritable and creates ~conflict~.
So I’m gonna have some fun with weather and emotions. I’m going to speedrun some little storybits and I hope you enjoy them. These prompts were given me by my friends, thank you friends.
First Phenomenon: Blizzard
Grace paced in a circle around her living room. Close to the stove, feeling the heat radiate into her body. Away from the stove, feeling the tile floor leech it all away again. A useless glance at the window, revealing only a pale void. She paused in her pacing to draw the curtains closed. She should have done that already, conserves heat and all, as well as letting her ignore the nothingness outside.
It wasn’t like she would have been going outside anyway. Even without a blizzard it had been bitterly, cruelly cold the last few days. All her activities had been cancelled. And it wasn’t like she had nothing to do. She had plenty of books brought out from her bedroom, her phone fully charged, the laptop on the coffee table. The power hadn’t gone out, although she’d turned most of the lights off. She had plenty of stored water, plenty of food, all the warm blankets piled on the couch just waiting for her to nest into.
By all rights Grace should be having the time of her life. No responsibilities, no obligations. Just her and her books and whatever she wanted to do.
But instead of taking advantage of the solitude she paced.
She should turn on some music, the wind howling through the porch rafters was going to drive her nuts.
Grace shouldn’t be lonely. She could text her friends any second, if she wanted.
The storm was just messing with her head. Making her think something was wrong when really nothing was.
She hadn’t even realized she’d begun pacing again until she felt cold tile on her bare feet.
Snow blanketed the world around her, muffling noise, swathing her house in false isolation.
Above the couch, a clock ticked away. With a scowl she climbed up and turned it off.
Second Phenomenon: Hailstorm
It started with a shift in temperature. The previously sunny, hot day turned gray and cold seemingly within seconds. The group all looked up at the sudden clouds, letting their weapons droop, shivering as the water clinging to their clothes became chilly instead of refreshing.
Then came the rain. Only a few sprinkles, making them laugh as drops pinpricked their noses and bare arms. Then more, a proper rain, and someone suggested they take shelter. Then a downpour in earnest, and everyone started screaming and laughing as they ran to huddle under the picnic shelter.
A truce was made, as both armies (and assorted mercenary and vigilante parties) were forced to put down their water balloons and empty out their guns and buckets, to keep peace within the confines of the musty, spiderweb-draped shelter. They entertained themselves by climbing in the rafters, shoving each other out in the rain, and making battle plans for the next campaign.
Then the sound of water on roof became sharper, louder. Is it hailing? someone asked.
The question was answered as a roar of impact after impact of ice against wood and metal drowned out everything.
A few of the braver members of the group edged out past the protection, shrieking as small chunks of ice stung against the hands they held out. Some scooped up the pellets and tossed them at the ones huddled in the center, or dropped them down the backs of wet shirts. A game of truth or dare started up, with most of the dares being variants on ‘go touch the hail’, and the older members of the group telling them that they should not do that, actually.
The storm didn’t last long, and soon the sun came back and the serious business of war continued, but everyone’s parents were regaled that night with tales of the hailstorm and how terrifying and fun it was to be out in it.
Third Phenomenon: Fog
“Maybe we should go back . . .” Mom says, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. She peers ahead, frowning at how the bright headlights merely spread across the thick, eerie fog instead of cutting through it.
“What, to Grandma’s?” I press my face against the window, shivering at the cold glass and also at my distorted reflection. “We can’t spend the night, I don’t have my contact stuff.”
Mom clicks her tongue. “This is true.” The road shines slippery black as headlights reflect off wet asphalt. It’s eerie, how that’s the only thing I can really see. I’ve used the word eerie already . . . but that’s the only one I can think of that explains it. It’s like a horror game, in those annoying cutscene bits at the beginning when they’re dumping all the lore on you as you drive in a badly rendered car along a badly rendered road where they didn’t even bother to make scenery.
Mom turns on the radio, it’s up way too loud and it makes me jump. She turns it down quickly, until it only serves as murmuring background noise. Indistinguishable between music and voices and honestly adding to the creepy vibe from the thick fog.
A car comes from the other lane, brights flashing painfully. Didn’t even see him coming until he was close.
“We should go back,” Mom says again. Her shoulders are raised, tense.
“At this point we’re closer to home than we are to her house, mum. It’s not like we’re going to crash into anybody.”
Mom bit her lip, but kept driving. I returned to looking out the window, imagining eyes watching, long arms reaching out from the gray darkness.
You know what, how about we don’t do that, actually.
I roll the window down. It’s cold, numbingly cold as I stick my hand out and let the wind buffet my arm. The fog slowly soaks my hand, so slowly that I don’t even notice it happening until I pull it back in and it’s dripping on my jeans.
“S’cold,” I say.
“You can’t even see if there’s trees, there could be trees or there could be cornfields, you wouldn’t even know.”
“There could be a whole entire thing out there and you’d never even see it until it got you.”
I roll the window back up.
“Maybe we should go back–“
I have realized that all of these were cold. It may be because I’ve actually forgotten what it’s like to be outside and not be cold. Summer is for sure taking her time getting here. Also, all of these are based on personal experience.
What’s your favorite kind of weather?
(also I still don’t know how to end a blog post h e l p)