This photo was the inspiration for my short story entry for 2025. It was published in the Saturday edition of the local newspaper. I titled it, "Stormy".
Stormy
Mark had made a big mistake. Striding up the big hill towards the coastal paths, he’d neglected to pay any attention to the weather. Admittedly, he’d been distracted by Charlotte’s constant chatter and need for him to be involved in her every activity: little sisters can be so painful! She had been especially needy since their dear old cat, Andy, had died last month. Their parents had asked him to be patient with her, but he just had to get out this afternoon to get some clear air.
He loved the Anzac Walk. Most days It felt like a conveyor belt to the clouds with the sea sparkling and dancing below, usually with giant black crows dotted along the handrail, cawing loudly and studiously ignoring the human traffic. The tubular, stainless steel structure supporting the path looked like giant DNA strands. Myna birds chattered with local peewees, arguing over the rights to a stray chip. All abilities of people were catered for. The sturdy rails and non-slip tread assisted walking frames and wheelchairs. Located adjacent to a hang-gliding launch pad, a brightly coloured canopy might swoop and thrill impossibly low over the pathway. The pilot would even wave back if given a cheery greeting. Occasionally, a languid blue-tongue lizard could be spied sunning himself on one of the sandstone outcrops. The rusting silhouettes of military personnel stood guard over the walk at intervals and made Mark feel safe.
Today, however, cast a different spell. Conditions were changing rapidly before his eyes. Huge banks of grey clouds tinged with green folded and forced themselves into an even greater mass as the sky groaned. Light rain misted downwards but was whipped and worried by swirling winds. Mark was half-way along and thought of shelter, but he was exposed and alone. As the sky made a ferocious clap above his head, lightning flashed and flickered. He began to run.
Rain began to hammer down, as the sky continued to rumble and crash. The perforations in the pathway couldn’t cope with the huge volumes of water washing down and along. Mark slowed his run and reassessed. This wasn’t going to stop in a hurry, he was already drenched and he was getting washed away. Could he make it to the stairs at the end and try to get some cover underneath? Head down, determined, he made his dash.
He was aware of an eerie glow emerging even as he splashed through the puddles on the path on his way to the stairs. The rain was changing too. The sheeting curtains of water were starting to break up, and heavier, plump, cold drops were punching his face. With another thunderous explosion, the drops turned to ice and the drumming started to hurt.
Mark raced down the first flight and dived over the handrail, landing in some bushes and barking his knee just as the heavens unleashed. He scrambled under the stairs to a deafening roar, as the hail beat a staccato overhead. Giant malformed balls of ice bounced off one another and accumulated on the grass slopes beside the stairs, blanketing them with a wet glaze. Unlike other hailstorms he’d experienced, which were over before you knew it, this one seemed to be building to some distant crescendo.
Despite the continuing deluge, Mark needed to take stock of his injuries. His knee ached from where he had fallen awkwardly, but he imagined he could still walk when he was eventually able to move from his shelter. Touching his head and face where the giant hailstones had hit revealed some soreness and, worryingly, some blood. He wiped the blood on his shorts and the second tentative swipe saw only a few minor streaks on his hands, so he thought he’d be fine. Just as he gazed out at the slightly easing maelstrom, he heard a plaintive cry. Was there a baby under here with him?!
He looked up into the crevice under the first stair risers and realised straight away when he saw bright, green eyes staring at him. He slithered on his stomach till he could reach out, and despite some feeble swipes of defence, he managed to slide the bedraggled bundle down towards him. A tiny kitten! Mark was shocked by his find, yet the quivering creature didn’t struggle but immediately sought to snuggle against him, seeking warmth and comfort. He adjusted his shirt into a makeshift sling to cup the kitten and keep it secure and partly sheltered. He looked around under the stairs for evidence of a mother cat or other members of the litter, but there was no trace. He realised the kitten was really young and she seemed weak, underfed and abandoned.
During his rescue mission, the hail had stopped and the rain had eased to a light shower. Mark scrambled from his shelter, carefully nursing his precious bundle in his T-shirt, slipping slightly on the icy blanket still covering the ground. He climbed back on the walk before limping along the footpath on the way down the hill toward home.
“We’ve been so worried about you!” his parents exclaimed when he opened the front door, Charlotte behind them. After reassuring them he was OK, despite the scratches on his face and his saturated clothing, he revealed his precious cargo, asleep and purring against his stomach. Charlotte immediately cried, “Can we keep her?” before his mum said, “Let’s get her warm and dry and fed first, then we’ll see”. Giving Mark a knowing look, Charlotte declared, “OK mum, let’s see. I am going to call her ‘Stormy’ though!”
