Writing Prompt: Sound

                Kvette walks down the street alone, the abandoned and shredded houses staring at her with deep dark openings ripped into their shells. She had to be careful here, large predators liked to use the buildings to stalk their prey. She carries her refurbished speakers with her, tapping on them softly, trying not to let the shaking in her legs reveal weakness. It had been two days, her stomach protests again and she reaches up to pat it, her fingers white and trembling. She had gone longer than two days before although not willingly. She heads towards the houses, hoping to find something that wasn't completely destroyed. She was looking for wires. She still had speakers, but some of the others did not. The winds pick up around her and she curses, looking up at the sky, and the rapidly darkening clouds. The dangers of being in the heartland like this. Although she was safe from hurricanes and tsunami’s, tornadoes were a real danger at all times. Flipping the switch on her speakers, she curses again as the light doesn't turn on. Again, she flicks it, back and forth, back and forth, until at last the light turns on and she holds them over her head, tapping on her phone to call up the correct playlist for tornadoes.

                Popping a set of ear plugs in, she turns the volume all the way up and jazz music starts pouring out of the speakers. Then she crouches, in the middle of the street, and waits. Three tornadoes descend from the sky like fingers, meeting the ground and crawling upon it, ripping dirt and debris high into the air. They speed toward the town, and down the rows of houses. Things that used to be nailed in, but haven’t for a long time, speed upwards, swirling. It was likely that most of these piles of debris that used to be houses had never originated on this street, or even in this territory. Kvette crouches, eyes forward and down, arms starting to shake with the effort of holding the speakers over her head, and waits. The tornadoes converge on her, all three like hungry wolves and she waits. Then, the jazz music does what it’s supposed to. The first tornado seems to hum, the resonance of the music hitting it at just the right frequency and it lifts, slowly, off of the ground and over her head before setting back down, and rioting on down the street, the other two trailing it on either side. Kvette stands, turns the music off, and flicks off the speakers. She needed to conserve the batteries, there weren't many of those left either.