The Storm by Kevin L Murdock

clear water has turned blood red and she is submerged beneath it, even as my hands find her and pull her up. Her face is covered with her hair, but something isn’t right. Frantically my fingers brush aside her hair to see her sweet, innocent face. As the hair moves away and I can see it, all my most despotic emotions gush at once . . .
                  Again I shot from a state of sleep onto my feet directly into a panicked but alert readiness. My breathing was shallow but rapid as I looked at my surroundings to ensure I was really alive and here in my home. My body was a heat pump, and sweat poured forth from every pore. If the temperature had been below freezing outside, I would have had steam coming from me. Slowly blinking my eyes, I collected myself and kept thinking it was only a dream. As I reassured myself, I couldn’t help looking down and noticing the gun was in my hand, trembling and making a clicking sound as it reverberated off the table.
                  If Earth was falling apart, I needed to be a solid core that gave gravity to my family. We were locked together eternally through love, and they needed me at my best. Gently I set the gun down on the coffee table and sat down while continuing to take deep breaths. Reality was coming back to me now. I was in the den, supposedly on guard. Stacy would have a fit if she saw the loaded gun next to me and probably rightfully so. Another one of those dreams and I might wake up shooting at the TV. Perhaps going forward, it might be prudent to leave the gun at least a few feet away as I sleep. Our neighborhood was safe, I kept believing, as my nerves settled.
                  A few minutes passed, and I decided I was grounded enough to return to sleep. Hopefully a blissful sleep. Maybe if I thought about sailboats or something fun, I might have better dreams. With that, I chuckled and tried to sweep the whole thing under the rug into some part of my brain that would forget by morning. As I started to lie back on the couch, it dawned on me that my shirt was soaked with sweat, and my body was thirsty. It was the middle of the night, so taking a shower was out of the question because it would wake the kids. I tossed my sweaty undershirt at Murphy, and it plopped right on his side. He had awakened when I got up, but he lay in place and watched me. Even with the shirt on him, he was too tired to move and laid his head back down to sleep after he had determined the coast was clear.
                  I had walked from the den to the kitchen probably ten thousand times before and was able to do it by muscle memory alone. A simple nightlight that normally would soothe kids’ fears of the dark was now sorely missed. The conveniences of what we had, all gone in one fell swoop. At least I had the sense to clear the pathway of the kids’ toys before bed so I wouldn’t step on one of Paul’s little trucks again.
                  When I entered the kitchen, I thought about lighting a match and a candle to see but decided that since I’d be going back to sleep momentarily, there was no need. “No need to waste any resources,” I said mutedly to nobody. My hands searched slowly on the counter for the glass cup I had been reusing since Friday. Washing everything by hand was a pain and we were trying to be somewhat efficient in our dirty dishes rotation. My hand connected with the glass and I firmly grabbed it while my other hand begun searching for the faucet when I heard something.
                  THUMP .
                  I froze in place as though hit with a stun gun and listened intently. Our ancestors were used to hearing odd noises and probably had a more keen sense of hearing. I was used to hearing car horns. A pause that lasted maybe twenty seconds but felt like two hundred . . .
                  THUMP . . . BUMP.
                  “Oh my god,” I said to the sink in the