The Flares

Trigger Happy

It was exactly one year ago today, give or take a few hours, that the disasters began.

It was like watching a small summer storm turn into a hurricane in the blink of an eye. The elements turned against us, like a rabid dog that had been repeatedly poked in the belly with a stick by a snotty child. It bared its fangs, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

The first signs came from the sky. White flashes went off like fireworks, covering the entirety of the world above us in a blaze that lasted no longer than a minute. The sun was giving us a warning. You've got ample time to leave, but if you don't you're kind of screwed after this.

The earth used the elements against us, and was relentless in its attempts to show us it meant business. Wildfires broke out and spread rapidly in the driest areas, with a little spark setting forests ablaze in a mass of heat and charred smoke. This didn't bother a lot of us. We lived in the city, and if it didn't directly affect us, it didn't matter to us. It seemed like a fairly normal occurrence to us, but looking back, I realise how abnormal our reaction was. The fires were just foreplay to something bigger, better, entirely more grand. The earth was going to put on a spectacular display, one that (for the few of us still alive) we would remember without fail.

At the time of the second disaster, I had been on the road with my dad. He would grimace whenever I spoke his full name out loud. Even now, as I recall the events, I can see his face contorting at the mention of it, so for obvious reasons, I'll stick with dad. I don't know why he hated his full name, but I never questioned it.

Dad and I made an attempt every year to spend a weekend in June going camping, hiking, fishing and doing just about every other bonding activity that he did with his father, and his father did with his father, and so on. He insisted that we do it, that going on the trip was an important life lesson for me. I never bothered to object, knowing that it meant a great deal to him that I follow this ancient tradition to please him, just as he did his father. It was like a circle of hatred, that a parent forces their child to go along with this elaborate scheme under the pretense of bonding. It didn't bother me as much as I liked to pretend. The area up north that we travelled to was beautiful by my standards. The lake was crystal clear and blue as the sky above. The forests were serene and peaceful, filled by sights of woodland creatures that I only saw one weekend a year. It was a break from society. Not one I hopped onto eagerly, but didn't rebuff entirely.

"I'm glad I managed to get the hunting license in time for this. Maybe we'll get lucky and come across an elk. Wouldn't that be something." Dad gleamed as he kept his attention on the road ahead, even though the narrow road surrounded by desert land was deserted for miles. The winds were strong compared to previous years, and looking out the window I found the distance to be a sandy blur as the earth was thrust about by ferocious air. I turned my attention back to the road and responded to dad, with much less enthusiasm but a fake grin in place, "yeah. That'd be something."

Dad was unnaturally chatty, and we were polar opposites in that sense, which is why I picked up instantly when he remained silent and the car slowed down, jerking to a halt in the middle of the road.

I leaned forward, wanting to ask why he had stopped so suddenly, but his face was turned to the side, transfixed by whatever was outside.

The winds had picked up into a sandstorm, which grew increasingly violent as it began to move to a particular motion. They blew ferociously, and I knew that a twister was forming. I wasn't an intellectual on any level, and ask me about my stance on geography, I have barely enough knowledge to get me through my classes, but it was pretty obvious that a tornado was in the making.