Nathan Andrew Cahill

Ten. The towering dark clouds started to cry, flooding the empty fields and busy streets.

Nine. The mother called out to her children to take shelter at their wooden house.

Eight. The wind pick up an enormous speed, knocking out a nearby coconut tree.

Seven. A girl cried loudly for her mother after the thunder roared loudly and the lightning bolted aimlessly.

Six. The sound of frogs and crickets filled the silent grounds, creating a rhythmic music over the night.

Five. A man knocked in a rather fast pace in front of a broken door, as his clothes were soaking wet from the rain.

Four. A family of seven had their dinner together, under the light of a single candle.

Three. The dog, which was once eating a scavenged bone and barking loudly on every passing strangers, is now snoring peacefully in its den.

Two. The night was dark, only the light  of the moon illuminated every home.

I stopped writing at one, as it had already started to rain.