The assignment today was to write a story in second person without it sounding like a choose your own adventure book or a role playing game. Eek! I've always admired writers who can sustain this for any length of time, Tom Robbins comes to mind. It's a handy tool, and a lot of fun to read, but frighteningly difficult to write.
The Sun finally breaks through the leaves and warms your old body all the way to your bones. Ah, that feels nice. You stretch languorously, splaying your toes. The birds fill the air with song. Finally, you begin to feel yourself again. Those long, dreary winters truly leave you feeling logy, unmotivated, stuck in the much. No matter how you try, you can't seem to drag yourself out of your shell. Your stomach growls and you start the seemingly endless journey to rustle up something to eat. Some fruit, maybe, would really hit the spot.
Suddenly, the ground begins to shake. The roof sways and your rock collection comes crashing to the ground and you tuck your head between your shoulders, eyes darting this way and that. What on earth?!? Your roof is torn away completely, and without warning you are flying through the air, twisting, turning this way and that. Your legs pedal at nothing. You can't breathe! A tornado, then? As though your very thoughts summoned them, sirens begin to wail. "Turrrrrrrrrrr" they shriek, winding up and up to a pitch that is nearly unbearable. You want to cover your ears, but alas you cannot. Just when you think you cannot bear another moment, then begin to wind back down. You hiss a brief sound of relief, only for the noise to start again.
You are becoming quite seasick, and frankly water never appealed to you that much to begin with. You flail for purchase, call for help, begin to pray. Anything to stop this hell. Suddenly great, slavering beasts begin to attack from all sides. They roar thunder and exhale breath from the very grave. Their huge teeth hunger for your flesh. The sirens, now you know were simply an early warning system for these creatures, stop. The word "Armageddon" floats briefly through your mind. That's when the missile attack begins. Still suspended by unseen forces you are shaken by each impact. With each concussion comes a crash. Shake! "Git!" Boom! "Daun!" Over and over again. Still the beasts rage on.
Something about this begins to tug at your memory. It seems vaguely familiar somehow. Could it be a recurrence of some childhood event? Something so traumatic that you tucked it away, forced yourself to forget? That's when it dawns on you and you remember, it's child season again.