The Storm

The weather was getting worse, but we decided to go anyway. We hadn't much of a choice though. We could have waited until the storm was over, but unless we were extremely lucky we wouldn't be able to get out.
I still remember how Clash, the youngest member of our group, looked amazed at the sky, with that violet-green colour that always appeared during a glass rain. All the other members had already experienced the horrible phenomena which was a glass storm. The constant tinkle of broken crystal hitting against the floor; the pain when a shard went through the protective padding, slightly cutting the flesh beneath and, worst of all, the constant thought you couldn't keep away from your mind...
What happened to those who weren't able to protect themselves?
Some of our members have gone crazy after a three-day long storm. It's not easy working here. Believe me, never become a Country Ranger. You'll end up hating it. Long hours, little pay, and of course the danger of being caught under a glass storm without shelter nearby. But someone has to do the job. Someone has to check the Oxygen Recolectors periodically, to make sure they haven't been pierced by a particularly nasty storm.
And now, here we are. Clash, PR-536, John and myself, cruising through the countryside praying for the wheels not to burst, hoping like hell the Spacejeep's ceiling won't be punctured. John had insisted on staying inside the bunker, but if we had, the car would have been surely wrecked by the storm. And we wouldn't have made it to the city then.
At least now we had a chance.

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This was a story I wrote several years ago while preparing for the First Certificate. I had lost track of it until a few weeks ago, and so I decided to publish it here. It has been considerably abridged, as the original introduced too much information which ended up being irrelevant.
Nevertheless, I hope you like the new version.