My roommate said he moved to Florida from Hurricane, West Virginia, though he pronounced it Hurr-eh-cun and threatened to fight me over it.
“It’s where the hurricane names come from,” he told me. “One at a time, we get sick. It’s alphabetical, but skips around. One year boys, the next girls. As we get sicker, the storm gets worse.”
“But you live here now,” I said.
He shook his head. “The sickness follows us. It’s where you’re born that counts.”
He went to bed early that night. The next day he had a fever, and clouds massed on the horizon.
This week’s weekly challenge was Hurricane. As always, you can read my story below, and hear my story alone. You can also go to the 100 Word Stories site and podcast to read and hear the rest of the stories, and vote for your favorites!