Storm on the Caldera

“Bring a storm on my caldera, and I’ll…” Corretta let the sentance hang. What threat could you make to God?
She sat back and watched the clouds roll in, taunting her.
“Well, if you’re going to rain, then rain!” She shouted out the window.
Obeying her command, the sky sent lightining like cracks in a windsheild across the grey heavens. Then, the already busted sky was pounded with water, and had no choice but to break and let it fall.
Corretta stepped away from the window angrily. There went her perfect vacation.
“Corretta, come down here!” Grandma called. Corretta grabbed a sweatshirt and threw it on before leaving the guest room and descending the stairs.
“They’ve issued a tornado watch, so I want you down here,” Grandma said nervously, turning back to the TV like it was the only thing seperating her from life and death.
“But it was clear an hour ago,” Corretta said, remembering how she had been thinking about wanting a photo of rain on the caldera. But not a storm.

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