From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
Blimey, the sky turned a bruised purple before the gale shredded the horizon, leaving the streets of Indiana a twisted wreck of timber and shattered glass. I huddled in the parlor, clutching my new Teddy Bear while the wind howled like a banshee, making me wish we had one of those fancy new air conditioners to hum away the suffocating heat and the copper scent of the storm. Grandfather sat frozen, his hand pressed tight against his bulky hearing aid as if trying to catch the screams of the headlines before they hit the press. It felt like a fever dream, and I’d swear on a lie detector that the world was ending, but at least the phonograph is still intact, scratching out "Bill Bailey" to drown out the sound of the wreckage.