And my story is on the computer where I am not currently and so I will have to miss the deadline for posting, unfortunately.

If anyone has time, I’d love feedback on any or all of my short stories. I am a firm believer that we can always do and be better 🙂 This week, I decided to dive back into my Max series.

The Great Pollen Disaster

Name: Max

Class: Science–6th Period

Assignment: Write About a Natural Disaster

Title: The Great Pollen Disaster: A Personal Account

When my teacher said we had to write about a natural disaster, most of the class immediately started talking about hurricanes, earthquakes, and tornadoes.

Which, to be clear, are all bad.

But also, predictable.

You can see a hurricane coming on the news. Tornadoes have sirens. Earthquakes at least have the decency to be over quickly.

What I lived through was different.

What I experienced was sudden. Widespread. Completely underestimated by the general public. And ignored by my entire household.

It involved pollen!

Now, before you assume this is not a real natural disaster, I would like to point out that pollen is, in fact, a naturally occurring substance that spreads through the air without permission. It affects breathing, visibility (sometimes), and overall quality of life.

So, technically, it meets most of the requirements.

The incident began on a Tuesday.

Everything seemed normal at first. The sun was out. Birds were chirping. People were acting like that was a good thing.

But I knew something was off. I opened the front door, took one step outside, and immediately felt it.

The air. It was different.

Thick. Suspicious. Dangerous!

“Mom, I can’t go out there. There’s pollen!” I said, stepping back inside for safety reasons.

My mom, who is not a scientist but likes to act like one when it’s inconvenient for me, gave me the look. “You’ll be fine. Just take the trash out.”

Like I said, the danger was underestimated.

I tried to explain the situation using facts.

“Pollen spreads through the air,” I said. “That means it could already be everywhere. It’s deadly!”

Before my mom could consider my plea for mercy, my sister had to join in.

“It’s always everywhere,” she said, which was not helpful.

“That’s exactly my point,” I said.

No one seemed concerned. At this point, I realized I was the only one taking the situation seriously. So, I had to prepare.

First, I put on a hoodie. I tightened it as much as possible around my face, leaving only a small opening for vision. Then I added sunglasses for eye protection, even though it made everything darker. It felt slightly more dangerous in a different way.

I briefly considered using a towel as a breathing filter. My mom wasn’t having that at all.

“Max,” she said, “if you take a towel outside, I will personally become your natural disaster. Just take the trash out already.”

So, I did what any responsible person would do. I adapted. Like someone entering a high-risk zone, I stepped outside slowly. I was fully armed with my hoodie and glasses. I had to be careful. I knew that at any moment, I could be exposed.

The wind picked up. This was not ideal. Particles—visible ones—floated through the air like tiny airborne threats. They were coming for me. I could feel it. I knew it, because no one else reacted. It was all very concerning.

I held my breath, just in case. Then I made a run for it. The trash bag swayed in my hand like it was a flower in the wind. It felt ominous.

If you’ve never tried to move quickly while also avoiding airborne danger, I can tell you it is not easy. Halfway to the trash can, I sneezed. My glasses shifted down my nose and nearly tumbled off my face.

It was only one sneeze, but still. It only takes once. It was more than enough to confirm my suspicions. I was infected.

The situation escalated quickly after that. The wind shifted directions, which made it impossible to predict where the pollen was coming from or where it was headed. At one point, I was fairly certain it followed me!

I reached the trash can, completed the drop-off, and turned back toward the house. That’s when it happened. A gust of wind. It was a direct hit. I stumbled, closed my eyes in defeat, bracing myself for the pain.

I waited. It was confusing. Nothing happened. I cautiously opened one eye. Still nothing, just my heavy breathing. After a moment, I took a deep breath. Still fine.

At this point, it became clear that either:

1. I had built up a natural resistance, or

2. I was stronger than the pollen

Both are reasonable, scientific conclusions.

I made my way back inside and shut the door behind me, sealing it for safety. I leaned against the door, breathing deeply as I pulled my hood down.

“I told you it’d be fine,” my mom said.

I didn’t respond right away. Because, technically, I was fine. But that didn’t mean the threat wasn’t real.

Needless to say, I survived. Barely. But that wasn’t the end of it. Because now, every time someone opens the door too casually, or says, “It’s nice outside,” I remember what happened.

The air. The wind. The betrayal.

Needless to say, this wasn’t the first time nature has personally targeted me, and based on current conditions, it probably won’t be the last. In our family, we don’t talk about it much. 

But we all know. Some Tuesdays are just more dangerous than others. And for the record, I still check the pollen count.