What brings you to Pocatello?

I have good news. Well. Good news for me. I don't know how good it is for you. But hey. I like it. So. Deal with it.

After like, a two year break, I'm attempting writing again. Like, short story type of thing. But. I thought you might like to see what I have so far. It doesn't have a title yet. And I'm not sure where I'm taking it. But I like it. Whatever it is.

I was all but five when the first storm blew in. The skies were as dark and as black as midnight, but it was only midday. You could hear the thunder for miles, and the lightning never stopped striking across the open field that stretched endlessly across the horizon. Rain fell like tears from the Gods. We counted every drop that fell, praying with the rhythm of the rain that the skies would lift.
My sister and I sat close to the window, watching the water fall so fast to the ground, we couldn't see the large oak tree that stood tall and majestically in the front of the yard. That same tree Dad had planted when it was just an acorn, fragile and beautiful, like a child it grew. I still remember the day he planted it, and I still think about him. Mama said the tree is what he was like. Meek and lovely, but it grew protecting and defensive, determined to keep that behind it safe. That was us for my father. But Mama told me he can't protect us any more. So he left us the tree. That oak filled the skyline now, the branches reaching out their long fingers to touch the golden sun that burned on the horizon, the same sun that rose every night and every morning. It always came, the sun did, it was as constant as the stars and the moon, it would always rise and fall, day in and day out. That never changed, and we believed it never would.
We sat there for hours when mom called us in for bed. And if we had moved then, and listened to her, I'd say little Holly would be coming home from school right about now, telling stories of the playground, filling the room with her comforting giggle and warm smile. But it's been well on fiver years now, and Holly still hasn't come home. Every day I watch for her. But she never comes. Mama promised she would. She tells me she's just resting, in another home, where she's safe, and that one day she'll walk though that front door and we'll play together again. But I don't know if I should believe her.

It's a rough draft for now, so I don't know what I"m going to do with it. I have a little more but that's about all for now. Let me know what you think. I'll be changing it over the next few days and let you know what I've got in a little bit. Thank yah!

Love you.

Little Miss Erika