“Urgie , close the windows!” , screamed Mrs Urgur at the top of her lungs.

It was hard enough that the wind was raging all around but she was also trying to prevent the clothes from flying away. The sandstorm in the Sahara desert are like no other and she knew from her experience that it would be the worst one yet in recent memory.

She desperately tried to keep the scarf from exposing her face to the wind as she walked about the house , closing the doors and windows as she did so. Her eldest child , Urgur , was nowhere to be seen in that situation , which made it even worse than it was.

The sandstorm was so sudden that it took her town by surprise. It was only a few minutes ago that she heard the warning siren from the local radio station. And she could still see the people on the street hurrying back to their homes in panic.

The street , which was only full of shoppers and stray animals a few minutes ago , was emptied in no time. The shopkeepers wasted no time in bringing down the metal gates and stray dogs were no where to be seen. Visibility was by then no more than a few meters.

The wind howled like wolves and hot desert sand crept into the clothes and stuck to the skin. The sky darkened in acknowledgement of the impending doom. Yet still , Urgie was was not in the house still.

Mrs Urgue begun to panic , switching from her initial feeling of anger toward her son. He was often out on the street around that time and no telling where he might be. His own father was lost in the sandstorm in that similar instance 5 years ago and she felt the cold sweat from her forehead dripping down.

Just as then , she heard a sound at the windows and saw the face of Urgie looking at her. Without thinking , she push the chair aside and pulled in Urgie with the other hand with relief. The storm would take many other lives but not Urgie it seemed.

Now , only if she has closed that widow!