The clouds moved in and the rain pattered against the window. Softly at first, then beating the house with the full force of the fifty mile per hour gale. The shingles began to peel away from the roof, revealing the soaking wet plywood underneath. He watched as the shingles fluttered away in the wind, dancing. First taking flight and slapping against the trees in the southern woodline, then walking, sprinting back towards the front door as if going to barge in from the storm and take shelter. 

The power went out, or just left for a moment to get away, seeking a better environment to spend an afternoon, and with it left the lights. Each second was filled with noise, then sudden, blinding, searing white light, and then darkness. Then noise, again.

He slapped his hands against his ears, pressing his head as far into his lap as he could, but the sound only came for him harder. It was seeking him out, as if his head was a hollowed out playground for it to bounce around in and, eventually, bust out, splitting his skull in the process.

A large oak tree fell outside, and he watched as the roof sagged suddenly under its weight. The rafters groaned, and the roof sagged even lower as clods of dirt flung themselves free from the rolling root ball of the great tree and bounced against the siding on the house.

He wanted to leave the house. He had wanted to leave for a very long time, but now he desperately wanted to kick open the door and run, run anywhere he could.

In a flash of light, the window burst, shattering glass and sending it flying into the living room where he sat on the floor hugging his aching head. The glass burst into tiny fragments, like dust, as if the tornado that was forming above the roof was an intruder, seeking entry into the meager, decaying home. 

The roof groaned, and the room got even shorter as the walls began to crack. Water began to pour into the house through newfound holes created by the oak, and he feared the pooling that was taking place above his head was adding to the weight of the tree. He raised his head to look through the gaping hole where the window had been moments before, and through the jagged edges he could make out a lake below him, creeping its way with each falling drop closer and closer to the house. 

The sky was angry today, and he thought he should try his luck outside with it. How could it be worse than sitting in this rotting, soaking casket? The courage to run was building within him, and with each centimeter that the roof lowered, the oak tree threatening to smash everything he ever knew, including the integrity of his own skull, he pictured himself running, the house a small dot in the distance behind him. 

He made a break for it.

His feet slid on the wet hardwood, barely dodging the large holes that he had never gotten around to patching, and his lips trembled as he slipped towards the back door. 

As he approached, he heard the tree fall through the roof behind him, splintering the walls into a thousand toothpicks and sending a poof of dust as the sheetrock pulverized under the enormous weight of the tree. He grabbed the brass doorknob, turning it and throwing his body weight against the metal door. It wouldn’t give, and he threw his shoulder against it, again and again, finally resorting to kicking it until he gave up. He traced the frame of the door with his eyes, seeing that the two by fours had twisted under the stress of the fallen oak. The door was as good as sealed, wedged under the weight of oak wood and roots. 

He turned, trapped now on one end of the house by the collapsed roof. He turned into the bedroom and made for the large window that overlooked the rotten bedframe, ready to throw it open and be free once and for all from the burden of this ancient house he had once called home. 

In a flash of white light, orange flames flickered forth from the trees, and another tree fell, now ablaze. This tree, a pine, fell against the oak that lay on the now flattened living room, the fire spreading. It happened fast, and the falling water could not slow it down. The house was on fire, and as shrouds of insulation fell from the crumbling roof, he struggled with the window, finally resolving to throw his body through the glass as another flash of white light encased the burning home. 

When he hit the ground, he rolled into the sitting position, his legs out in front of him. He wasn’t sure what had just happened. He sat on the living room floor, watching through the window as a storm rolled in. The clouds moved in and the rain pattered against the window. Softly at first, then beating the house with the full force of the fifty mile per hour gale.

He wanted to leave the house. He had wanted to leave for a very long time.