Free write Week 12

The one room shack stood abandoned in the West Texas heat. Dust covered the furniture, untouched by a woman's hands. No savory scent filled the air. Nothing but beans and burnt cornbread had touched the little stove in over a year. And even now that was gone. The quiet was almost defeaning. It was the soundlessness that could drive a man to do crazy things. The wind howled outside the little shack, echoing a woman's screams. Storms in Texas were like a man's temper, striking fast and devasting to anyone in its path. Thunder-reminiscent of the sound of a man's fist makes when striking soft flesh-abounds across the angry sky.