Today I’m posting a short flash fiction response to Herman Kok’s Song Title Challenge ‘Storm the Sorrow’, by Epica – a Dutch band whose genre has been described as symphonic metal. Also progressive metal, gothic metal, death metal, thrash metal and…uh…folk metal.
Herman’s challenge is to not listen to the song and write something creative that has nothing to do with the song – but which is inspired laterally by the title.
Make sure you check out his blog, ‘If all else fails, use a hammer’.
By the third day the media called the storm The Sorrow. It could be nothing else, as it twisted its path of destruction across the country.
Jack had already named it that, and more, as the grey clouds whirled up from the south and turned day to night. They matched his mood, and as the wind set in the creaking of his house made him feel it was not empty. But that only reminded him of what he had lost, and he swore at the wind, and at the clouds, and at the universe in general.
It didn’t make him feel any better. Jill was gone, long gone, and time seemed to make no difference. His darkness, it seemed, had become his life; and now it had become real, turned into this storm, and it tore into the house and at everything he knew.
She was gone and was with somebody else and the wind howled and he saw the roof lift from the shed in the back garden where she had once tried to grow water cress. Foolishly. Jack watched the contents of the shed distribute themselves around the garden. Rain splashed the window and blurred the view. He remembered Jill and raged at the storm, and the storm raged back.
After five days the sun came out. Jack looked at the broken ruins of his garden, at his roofless shed, at the wires down in the street outside, at the debris scattered everywhere he could see, all bathed in a golden light that seemed so strange after the cyclone.
If this were a story, he supposed, the sudden sun – that splash of hope – might be a sign, a turning point, a moment to realise the folly of his dark glamours.
It wasn’t, of course. Life is never so pat. Jill was gone. And so he raged at the sun, too.
Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014