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The Storm.  

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The Storm By Daniel Stickler It was a normal mid August afternoon, and as I plodded along the ordinary, yet somewhat apprehensive North Close, I knew something was wrong. My insides started to become tight, and my stomach rolled around and around, as if it was doing somersaults. I cautiously turned around. Nothing. My insides were getting tighter, and a sharp pain, as if someone had thrusted a blunt dagger into my side, started. I fell to the floor, almost knocked unconscious by the ever increasing pain. Salty tears rolled down my face, as I struggled and fought my way to my feet. Suddenly, the sharp stabbing pains had vanished. Nothing. Again, I turned around, this time not knowing what, if anything, was behind me. Again, nothing. I stared at the August sky, and soon realised that something wasn't right. Those clouds, those big black malicious looking clouds, growing larger and...

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