The Unholy Terror of Little Tom

THE UNHOLY TERROR OF LITTLE TOM The bashing sounds of thunder echo in reverberation to the electrifying bolts of lightning that illuminated every single room from dark to light just seconds earlier. Sheets of rabid rain torpedo upon a leaky roof. Broken limbs of trees tossed away by raucous sheets of sleet ram hard against the battered frame of the small cottage. Little Tom holds close in a fetal position immobilized in fear and bowed down as a non person waiting stupefied quivering and frozen in spaceless timeless obedience to all his emotions. The vibrations of the shaken windows push and pull in harmonic rhythms accelerating into a persistent succession of unrelenting pounding pistons upon the naked wooden structure. Little Tom awaits in terror for the moment when the storm gates will crash in allowing the blizzard to surge the void and tear obliquely at his tender weakened shivering flesh. He ties to hide by pressing deeper into the blackness of the night. But the sparks of the fireplace dancing in rapid cadence against the wall reveal the shadow of his huddled form. Wet and convulsing in unbecoming behavior Little Tom yells out DADDY, DADDY! . His father, lays dormant and unconscious in a drunken stupor passed out and vacant on an unmade bed. Worn and withered forlorn and terrified Little Tom in one last whimper, cries himself to sleep CAK 5-16-2013