Everyone waited out in the heat that afternoon. We looked at each other with fear in our eyes. The silo, just outside our town, had blown apart. People talked sparks and metal and I’m in labor just about then.
My daddy was crying as they wheeled me into the delivery room. I kept asking for you. My mother squeezed my hand. She was crying, too.
He came out so beautiful and perfect and screaming his way into this world. I named him Silo. Since we hadn’t chosen a name yet, that one seemed best to me at the time.
prompt -© Marie Gail Stratford