The Storm

was turned down low on the news channel reporting the weather. Henry set a steaming cup of the darkest looking coffee I had ever laid my eyes on and sat down in the squeaky chair across from me. And he started to talk. “You folks always do the reportin' on only the big cities affected. We’ve lost whole families inland and not a word about it in the news. No reporters come out here. Too far away from a Hilton Hotel, I guess. What prompted you to come inland?” I responded to Henry’s question, “I wanted to get the news that’s personal and the news behind the news. We dig out stories, and, as they say, 'Boldly go where no man has ever gone before.' We are not the average newspaper. We dig deep and report the truth and not a facade or semblance of the truth. That’s why I am here.” Henry stood up to full height and began his speech: “Here’s the truth, Son. There are some folks out here that lost everything, including their dogs, cats, cows, kids, and kin. Their livelihood is gone. Cattle, chickens, goats, hogs, soil, and moonshine. Whole families dead with not one survivor. We can’t even find their bodies to bury them. Gone. All gone. Whole houses swept off the foundation, and scattered belongings clear up to the state line. We’re findin' furniture in some treetops in the lowlands and dead cattle and horses 100 miles north. The mud swallowed up most everything and buried a whole load of farm equipment, never to be seen again. They show submerged houses and the rescue teams in New Orleans, but you won’t see rescue boats, helicopters, and camera crews this far inland. It’s ju st not convenient, and they really don’t have any idea howmany people really live out here. Ruby might as well not exist, and there are 25 of these towns just like Ruby that aren’t even on the new state maps. As far as

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