Hurricane Shelter

Sitting in the recliner her family brought so she wouldn't have to sleep on a cot, she wonders. How long will she be here? How long will the storm last? How long before the power goes out, or the oxygen goes off, or the food runs out while they wait it out. Lying on the cot, the dirty cot, wearing his four-day-old dirty clothes, watching the others in their dirty clothes on their dirty cots. When will the wind stop howling? When will the rain stop pounding? When will the silence stop echoing through the gym as no one talks, only listens to the storm rage on. Hiding in a classroom away from the others, she ponders her puppies and where they may be now. Where were they taken? Where are they getting food? Where will they be when she herself finally leaves the shelter after the storm has passed. Listening to the snoring of the other shelter workers, she stares into darkness wondering. Why is she here? Why is her family at home? Why does she need to lie on an air mattress with others, all alone, to wait out the storm. Rushing home after the storm has passed to see the damage, assess the world outside the shelter. What to do with all the debris? What to say if you've lost it all? What to think when you get to go home and the shelter worker stays, to clean up the mess left by you, and the storm.