The Little House

"Tornado warnings have been issued to parts of Pittsburgh and surrounding counties as..." I interrupted the rest of the programming as I switched off the television. Out my window I could see the storm clouds coming in somberly, almost as if it was a death march. The dark, gloomy clouds began to cover the sky and, what last week's weather program had claimed were, the beginning signs of Spring. The sun was covered as quickly as it had appeared and the only trace of it that remained was the humidity lingering in the air. A great fog created a mask around the little house, separating it from the rest of the world. The little house stood, alone and crumbling.

I turned around to distract myself with anything that was not the impending storm. I took out my phone and began to scroll but my videos were soon drowned out by the rain that began to heavily pour down. This storm wanted to be noticed and it was. The lightning began to light up the entire sky, making visible the spring flowers, probably for the last time before the storm took them. The thunder shook the little house and I feared for a second that it might crumble right there. But that was the job for the tornado, which was still yet to come.

It made sense. There had been signs of a storm for months now without any fruition. There was slight rain with harsh winds before, but nothing I had not been able to ignore. This storm, however, was different. It was almost as if it wanted to avenge its smaller counterparts I had ignored, like it had something to make up for. It seemed almost as if it was a buildup of all the storms of the season. It was the big finale, the one that demanded my attention. So, I gave it and glanced out the window once more. It seemed the news had been right this time; a tornado was approaching rather quickly. I could see it in the back corner of the field that surrounded the house. The strong winds picked up dirt and debris and swirled them around. It took whatever it could, leaving destruction in its path that little was able to evade. Even though it could destroy anything that came between it and the little house, there was nothing to challenge it. Even the trees that had once filled the field were weakened by the storms before and were not able to stand against what was to come. So, this storm had nothing in its path keeping it from the little house and it moved all the more swiftly because of it. It was almost as if the previous storms were accomplices to this great storm and had prepared its way.

The tornado moved toward the little house, creating such a big commotion that the world outside of it seemed oddly silent. The lightning continued to light up the sky and the thunder shook the house, but it was almost unnoticeable compared to the swirling winds that made their way down the field. I let out a deep sigh, not knowing that I had been holding my breath until now. The tornado was not more than a mile away now. I could feel it as if it was in me. As if the swirling winds were in my head and the rain poured down my cheeks. As if the thunder pumped in my chest and the lightning worked to expose a deeper part of me that I had once worked hard to conceal.

I had prepared for this moment. I knew a storm like this would come. One seems to come every year. Usually, they are short lived. The trees fall, the rain sweeps the flowers away, but the little house remains, always damaged but nonetheless upright. The little house seemed to be capable of withstanding every storm that has come its way, but something about this one felt different. Maybe it was the size or maybe it was the years of deterioration of the little house. Maybe it was the loudness of the winds or the way it demanded attention. Either way, one day a storm was bound to hit the little house, to finally destroy it, to tear it apart piece by piece. I knew this. Looking back, I had always known this.

This little house had once been beautiful. A place filled with life, of joy. It looked different now, broken down and covered in gasoline. One could tell that the storms had taken a toll on the house, but not as great as the toll that had come from the neglection. The first storm had caused the roof to leak months ago, allowing all the other storms to flood the little house to an even greater extent. The dishes in the kitchen were left dirtied in the sink, piling up to an overwhelming amount that seemed impossible for even the storm to take away. The door had been stuck shut since last season, preventing anyone from coming in to work on the little house, leaving the little house isolated and continuing to crumble. The little house had been on its own and without repair for so long that even a smaller storm probably could have destroyed it.

The tornado was just outside the window now and I could feel the house rumble. I had decided long ago that I would not give the storm the satisfaction of taking the little house. So, as the tornado began ripping through the field, finishing the trees and uprooting the flowers, I slowly moved my hand into my pocket and clutched onto the old lighter I had kept for years. I looked around the little house one last time. Even with all my preparation, it was difficult to say goodbye. More difficult than I thought. But it was time. The little house was beyond repair and the tornado would only tear it apart even further. I had made up my mind; in reality, my mind was always made up. I had always known it would end this way. I had always known it would be me to finally destroy this little house. With that last thought, in one fluid motion, I clicked the lighter and dropped it to the floor, ending the life of the little house before the storm could.