March 26, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes the phrase, “It’s just the wind.”

It’s Just the Wind by Georgia Bell

I pressed my forehead to the window, the cold glass soothing against my flushed skin. How long had I stared down at the sidewalk, waiting for something – for someone – to be the change I couldn’t initiate? How long had I been sitting here, wanting and needing and not acting?

I felt him standing behind me. His silence as loud as the words he wouldn’t say. I didn’t turn, but flinched as the window rattled in the frame.

“It’s just the wind,” he said, and I nodded, closing my eyes, hope burning as hot as the tears on my face.

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Red-faced Relief by Paula Moyer

Jean was alarmed. As she opened the registers at work, she could not escape it. Pain in her lower abdomen – not the hallmark, lower right, could-this-be-appendicitis pain, but instead in her lower left. It was so sharp, she could hardly walk. Her faithful husband arrived when called, and tenderly escorted her to the car. At the ER, the attending physician suspected a kidney stone that had gotten stuck in her ureter. Urine sample, test upon test. The last imaging study was inconclusive. Then Jean went to the restroom. She emerged relieved but sheepish. “It’s just the wind,” she said.

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The Darn Door by Ruchira Khanna

The door gets shaken now and then as if someone is trying to push it open.

Leo is trying to focus on his work thus ignores it by murmuring repeatedly, “It’s just the wind.”

His constant persuasion makes him complete the file, and as he pushes himself up from the chair, he hears a loud bang with a body falling on the floor.

Devastated Leo rushes to the figure that wants to speak but nothing can be transcribed. Finally, the man breathes his last.

Leo’s eyes are moist yet curious as he stares at the door that is motionless.

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It’s Just the Wind by Susan Zutautus

Bitterly cold
Turning fingers white, noses red
It’s just the wind

Sending shivers down my spine
Something rushes by
It’s just the wind,

Rain pounding
Trees thrashing about
It’s just the wind

Were those men whistling at me?
As I walked down the street
It’s just the wind

Forceful destructive
Strong enough to knock you down
It’s just the wind

Gusts travelling at a hundred miles an hour
Leaving many without power
It’s just the wind

Changes in speed and direction
Causing tornadoes
It’s just the wind

Dust sweeping across the desert
Gritty sand everywhere

It’s just the wind

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It’s Just the Wind by Norah Colvin

Her crumpled body pressed tightly into the corner; she willed herself a part of it.

He was coming to get her.

His tendril-like fingers scratched the window pane, prised up the screen, tore down the blind, demanded entry.

With her eyes clamped shut, the images took charge: too terrifying to forget, too horrible to remember.

He’d never let her be.

His powerful hands pummelled the door, jangled the handle, wrenched it free.

Hands blocking her ears failed to exclude the menacing howl.

“There’s no escape.”

Her screams found voice.

“Hush,” they soothed the quivering mass. “It’s just the wind.”

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Waiting for Company by Charli Mills

Each morning, Lilith shuffles across pale pink linoleum to brew coffee. “Be ready for company,” Pa would say. After much gurgling, the pot radiates an aromatic invitation. If it’s strong enough, maybe the new neighbors who bought Johnson’s old Black Bear Ranch will visit. Sitting alone at her Formica table Lilith dabs at a sugar cube in her cup. Her wrinkled eyes close, recalling old sounds. Scuffs of cowboy boots. How black-brew tinkled when poured into enamel cups. The rumblings of male chatter from the wooden porch. A board creaks and Lilith’s heart stirs. Company? It’s just the wind.

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