Outside, wind howled, rain pounded our windows, but that was nothing compared to what was happening inside.
In our kitchen, my brother’s storm startled me even more than Mother Nature’s.
It arrived with a force that sent my dog running. I wanted to follow but I stayed, frozen, under my mother’s glare. I had to stay, always, so as not to make my brother feel bad.
Him. We don’t want him to feel bad. Because, with changes in routine, like pizza being delivered with mushrooms alongside the pepperoni, he struggles. But, standing near his pizza-fueled rage, I struggle, too.
April 3, prompt: Pizza – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes pizza. 🍕