Short Stories

Dust Bowl

*** Okay, so this was a school paper. It was basically what our family would do if there was a Dust Bowl in a random state that we were given. I was given Maine, and here's what I wrote.***

“Hey, hurry up and help me out with this!” Bailey shouts from the house, his voice muffled by the cloth over his mouth and nose.

I race over to his side, and start to help put the plastic wrap around the house. “Sorry bro, I was shoveling a path for mom and dad up the driveway.”

“It’s okay, but I’d rather have the house secured than worrying about whether or not mom and dad can walk up the driveway easily. Besides, dad should be able to get the plow over here before the next blast.”

We struggle to wrap the house. You’d think that by now we would have been experts, seeing as this dust bowl has been going on for three years now. It all started with the drought. The farmers, including my grandfather, thought it would be a short one, like they have always been. Boy were they wrong. The drought dried up the topsoil, then the wind from the southern tropical storms came and blew it around. We now have to live in a society where we have sand days instead of snow days. The temperatures have also risen so we never get snow. It’s like what I thought Texas was when I was little. All I know, is that I will never complain about the cold again.

“Bridget! In the house! Now!” Bailey shouts, dropping the plastic wrap. I turn around to see the black clouds coming. No, not storm clouds, dust clouds. More than a mile high, stretched as far as the eye can see. I stand there, frozen as the mass comes closer. “Bridget!”

I whip around to see Bailey hanging out of the door. I bolt over to him, grabbing his hand as he pulls me in. We lock the door, and move the plywood in front of it. The board doesn’t do much, but it definitely makes a difference. We shove the boxes to cover the fireplaces just as the clouds get us. We look at each other in horror as the dirt beats against the windows. We quickly cover them with the makeshift indoor shutters.

“I think we’re good. We covered the door, the fireplaces, and the windows, that was it, right?” I ask, leaning against the wall in exhaustion.

“I think so,” Bailey says, doing the same as me. He runs his hands though his sweat soaked, brown hair. He cleans his glasses off on his shirt, and sits down in a chair.

“Do you think mom and dad will be okay? Dad was making window and door reinforcements outside, right?” I ask, glancing at the window.

“He would have made it inside in time, he’s careful like that.”

“Right,” I say, and uncertain smile on my face. Our dog, Terra, jumps into my lap as I slide down the wall to sit on the floor. She’s a small black dog, the size of a miniature poodle. “It’s okay Terra, the storm will be over soon.” Right as I say this, the power goes out. It’s pitch black in the house even though it’s twelve thirty.

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Bailey asks while lighting a candle.

“Hey, a girl can hope, can’t she?”

“What’s the point, it’s been like this for three years, and they’re predicting this dust bowl to last ten more years. This society will never be the same.”

“Society fixed itself after the last Dust Bowl!” I shout at him. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this argument.

“That was a long time ago. Society was a lot more simple back then. Let’s just say, this generation won’t be the smartest one yet, seeing as how many school days we’re missing.”

“I know, but it’s still nice to hope for it to be the same again.” I look around at all the dirt stained furniture and scratched walls.

“There’s no point in hoping. Hope is dead.”