Nine years passed since the storm hit.

Most days the fishermen stay home,

dreaming of salty catch and broken line.

The children don’t go to school anymore,

for fear of the coming hours.

No one is the same.

Not even the priest, who has visions,

of God’s will and imminent doom.

The postman doesn’t deliver any mail,

he just keeps it for himself in a stack in the corner.

No one seems to mind,

except for the old lady who limps to her mailbox.

She knows nothing’s there, but checks anyway.

The storm passed nine years ago,

but everyone’s still acting strange.

Everyone is looking for an excuse for their lives to change.