Fiction

When the Weatherman Dies

By: Francine Witte

There is suddenly no weather. Rain dries up before it falls and wind is all puffed out.

“It’s a show of respect,” the anchor man says, and his lovely co-host agrees. The sun is gone, too, leaving only a beige, vacant sky. The ski people and the
beach people are both at a loss.

“We like weather,” a little girl is saying in a TV interview. “We want it back and anyway, we don’t need someone to tell us when it rains.” Her mother, embarrassed, turns storm-purple. “She goes to a gifted school,” she explains. ”They encourage the students to tell the truth.”

The little girl ignites a movement, and everywhere across the country, there is a call for the end of weather reports. “Just tell us about the wars and the celebrities.” A sign on the TV says. “We’ll take our chances with the rain,” reads another.
Eventually, the weather returns, but stronger than before. Hurricanes spinning

like blenders, tornadoes dinosauring into towns. On a newscast, signs with smeared litter pasted to hillsides and broken houses.
And no weatherman to say where this is headed next.

Categories: Fiction

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