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A whirlwind swept through our house this morning. It left no room untouched. I first heard it from the bathroom, where I had been brushing my teeth. It had started in our bedroom, roaring as it consumed the nightstands, first mine, then hers. It hit the closet next.
I peered around the corner, watching it, spellbound. I’d only seen one once before, as a child, in my mother’s house. They were very much the same. I hadn’t known what to do about it then, and I most definitely didn’t know now.
This whirlwind had a name. Emma.
I followed it cautiously, peering around the walls, not wanting to get to close. It roared as it approached the kitchen, and I found myself rooting for our silverware and dishes. They might, just might, stand a chance.
I was wrong. The whirlwind swept through, and within seconds-or maybe it was minutes, it went by very quickly-the room bore its mark. Dishes flew, the sink roared. I ducked as a wooden spoon flew my way. Knifes arched gracefully onto the counter, shaking a little as they landed, point first, embedded in the wooden holder next to the sink.
Throughout it all, the whirlwind kept spinning, constantly moving.
The dining room was next. Spilled milk, crumbs, fruit peels, the occasional dirty plate, all flying to their respective places, be it the trash, the garbage disposal, or the humming dishwasher.
The whirlwind roared on.
It spun a little slower now, roared a little less.
The living room was no challenge. Blankets hit the linen closet, folded neatly into perfect squares, thump, thump, thump. Pillows lined the armrests, tilted just so. The floor became blue once more due to a slightly loader roar.
Almost spun out, the whirlwind turned to me. Emma ran to me, sobbing, and threw herself into my arms.
I woke up, hearing Josh in the bathroom. I glanced around at our room. The nightstands were covered in junk, such as old tissues, or dirty laundry. Clothes spilled out of the closet,piling on the floor. I just washed those.... I leapt up with a groan, and set about cleaning the room. Clean clothes were folded and returned to the closet, dirty ones were flung to the hamper. Tissues flew to the trash, and I continued on.
The kitchen was worse. Dirty dishes mounded around the sink, tiling dangerously, at risk of tipping over at any second. I pounced upon the largest pile, and within minutes, the room was looking better.
I tossed a knife, watching it slide home into the knife block. A spoon flew into the drawer, and I turned the sink on.
I nearly ran to the next room, the dining room. But I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of it. A glass of milk had been spilled, then left to drip slowly onto the floor. A banana peel drooped off the corner of the table, while sitting in a throne made of cracker crumbs.
A dirty plate dripped syrup onto the table. Another lay upside down. I groaned, then whisked them away.
My work almost complete, I slowed. The living room was strewn with blankets and pillows, and the floor didn’t even look blue.
I muttered to myself as I folded the blankets, tossing them into the linen closet, smiling as they landed, thump, thump, thump. The throw pillows I set on the couch, two on either side, cocked at just the right angle.
The vacuum hummed, leaving a trail of blue wherever it went. Nothing stood a chance against me!
I turned to see Josh watching me. Sobbing a little, for no reason I could discern, I ran to him.