"Of all the times my back has to go out, it decides to do it with a freaking hurricane coming," Susan fumed. "I haven't even had time to board up the windows or glue down the silverware."
The dark storm clouds crept closer and closer and closer to her home.
"Why is that godforsaken mailbox so far from the house?" she cried, needing to focus her frustration at being completely helpless on something, on anything.
Susan tried to stretch out her back, tried to stand up, but the pain snapped at her lower back lips whips. She cried out, hoping someone was home, would hear her.
The first drops on rain landed on her face, and her loose clothing began to flap in the strengthening winds. The trees shook and shuddered behind the house. Suddenly the windows exploded, and a few shards of glass reached Susan and made tiny cuts in on her head and face.
"Fine," she screamed, "if this is how it ends, then let's get it over with!"

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CraigTowsley (joined about 13 years ago)
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I think this site is like a power juicer to the armadillo-skinned oranges of writer's block.

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fear frustration Anxiety acceptance

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