Donner walked down the street. Evening was befalling the land, and a storm was brewing in the distance. The clouds held lightning, which bounced around as if the bolts were rubber balls in a jar. No thunder rolled out from the storm. It was vibrant, yet silent. Donner hoped to escape the city before the weather turned harsh.

His jacket waved in the wind. It was well worn. There were more holes than there should be, and he could not close it to cover his chest. The wind whistled from behind him, and occasionally seemed to attack his front. His backside was cold, but his house was in view. A small shack noticeable from anywhere, with an abandoned dirt road leading directly to it. He paused at the head of the road and began walking down it with his head looking at the ground some distance ahead of him.

The sky grew darker, but flashed brighter. The storm, silent as it was, grew steadily. The wind picked up significantly. This did not bother Donner; he ventured on quietly, his boots on the dirt making the only sound.

As he reached his front step, a single water droplet fell on him. The cold water sent a shock down his arm, starting at the shoulder where it landed. He ascended the steps to the rotting porch of his home and passed the door, which was decaying too.

He sat in his worn chair, which was previously a rocking chair, but the rocking piece was broken and so removed. He unpacked his bag onto his lap, with the loaf of bread he stole from town tumbling out of it. He caught it before it fell out of his lap. He broke it and ate some of it. Then, he stuffed it back in his bag and put that on the counter in the kitchen, against the wall.

The sky was pitch black, save the flashing of lightning. No thunder emerged from the storm. He lit a fire and noticed the wind switching directions back and forth. The rain, which was light at this point, splashed across his window. He grabbed his bag from the kitchen and dove to the floor in the hallway. The outside of his house creaked and cracked against the pressure of the storm. Lightning flashed furiously outside, but he wouldn’t know if he hadn’t been watching the windows and door the entire time.

Donner felt like he was in an elevator briefly. More of his house began to fall apart as the wind roared angrily. When part of his walls in the kitchen fell off, he could hear the wind tear down a couple remaining pictures off the wall across from it in the living room. The lit fireplace didn’t know how to react to the shaking and moving of the house, and the wind that occasionally reached it.

The ceiling of the hallway Donner was in began to rain dust. It didn’t take much effort for him to retreat to the back of the hallway, since the house seemed to be tilting. The wind was still aggressive, and he still felt like he was moving. By the time he reached the back, he had to right himself to stand on the back wall. 

Some familiar household objects made their way to the back of the hallway, which was now the bottom of a rectangular tube. An old vase, which was already damaged, shattered in the pit near Donner’s feet. A picture frame containing Bible verses fell from his front door. The verse was undamaged, but the glass covering it was destroyed. The house began to turn again, and he and the shattered scraps were thrown against a closet door.

The front door suddenly swung open and some debris found its way through. The debris fell to his feet, too. Some cookies fell from the kitchen. They exploded into a moldy dust when they hit the ground. The jar soon followed, shattering against what was once the ceiling. Donner unsteadily lowered himself to the ground, waiting for this to be over.

When he awoke, it was to the sound of fire. Blazes spread from the fireplace and his bedroom. He stood helpless on the ceiling of his house. There were holes in it in several places. He tried to make his way to the door, avoiding the holes in the floor. Eventually, he stood next to burning wood and a door he could not reach. He slung his bag across his shoulder and jumped several times until he reached the doorframe. He then climbed up to it and kicked the door out. His house was on top of some trees. He could not see how he could safely get down, but he tried anyway. He climbed quickly down the wall.

Donner then hung from the eaves of his roof, the rain pounding on him. His house was struck by lightning again while he watched, this time where the kitchen must have been. He stood on the nearest branch as he quickly searched for a new branch to go to, since the one he was on was cracking and breaking rapidly. He found one near the bottom, and the sudden shock of the fall stopping and the weight of his body coursed through him. He felt pain in his arms, so he swung himself to a lower branch. He descended this way some before he reached the ground.

Lightning struck his cabin again. Donner knew his fate now. He opened his bag to find his bread absent, which only confirmed for him what his fate must be. Watching the lightning, but hearing nothing but the white noise of rain, he took a few deep breaths and threw his leather bag into the woods.

He shouted as loud as he could, with great fury and grief. Eardrums across the town were destroyed by the outpouring of thunder that emerged from his voice. Lightning rippled in the clouds, briefly stopping its assault on the ground. The wind began to lift him into the air as he continued screaming with air he no longer had. The strong winds tore the scaffolding of his house, and it folded and crashed to the ground.

He was lifted higher and higher. His voice continued to flood the whole county with thunder, even when he was long out of breath. His body reached the storm cloud. The winds kept him there for a little while, as if it were determining what to do with him. Suddenly, a strong crosswind threw him out of the lifting wind’s grasp, hurling him towards his house again. The instant he touched the fiery splinters of wood he once called his house, he was struck by lightning. The storm had regained its thunder, and the sound of his voice at last ceased.