This story was in response to Heather Wright’s Writing Prompt #50 at The Writer Magazine website. The prompt: Use one of the opening sentences provided.
A Late Morning Storm
A bright orange sun crawled out of the horizon. It looked around at the scenery before it: the bright greens of the leaves and grass, the vibrant yellows and reds and purples or the flowers, and the bright blue sky. No sooner had the sun smiled at the beauty all around than dark clouds rushed in, obscuring its view. The sun continued to try to peek around, under, and between the clouds for a bit before realizing the clouds were intentionally getting in its way.
The clouds swelled with overconfidence, lazing in front of the sun, never suspecting that the sun was simply biding its time, climbing higher for a better position to launch itself at the clouds.
Just before midday, the sun had waited long enough. It had the advantage of position, as well as the lulled laziness of the clouds. The assault was brutal, but fairly short. The sun pounded the clouds mercilessly, each blow accompanied by a bright flash of the sun’s pent up rage and followed by a thunderous roar of pain from the clouds as they spilled torrents of rain on the land below.
Having dispatched the clouds, the sun once again gazed about at the beauty below it. Beaming with pride and joy, it sent its warming rays to dry the land.