"Just a storm in a teacup" they said, and stirred their tea vigorously, as if by doing so they might chase it away, "Soon blow over."

They never looked down to see the storm there as it fizzed with frustrated energy, chasing the tealeaves around the cup. No wonder a storm in a teacup always seemed so bad. Like a bird trapped within a too-small cage, desperately beating its wings against the bars, who could wonder that it struggled and fought, exerting all the energy that it could?

Even a storm could dream, and it dreamt hard. It dreamt of a sky to race across, and the lightning that tore the darkness, and the shout of thunder. It dreamt of rain that pelted against everything in its path, stinging, and bouncing off the ground with the strength of its force. No-one could ignore it and look away, no-one could sip their tea and pretend it didn't exist. Like any creature bred in captivity, it dreamt desperately of freedom.

But it was trapped there in its teacup, and however hard it battered it could never seem to escape. Although it was certain that once it was out, nothing could stand in its way, the china walls seemed too high and too strong for it to ever get loose.

And then one day, somebody dropped the tea-cup.

The storm's prison shattered, and joyously it rose up into the skies. People glanced up as the skies began to darken, and hurried intro their houses and safety as the storm exerted its true power. It howled in delight, and trees bent under the force of its howl. The raindrops beat against the windows, the lightening lit up the skies, and the thunder shouted for joy at finally being free.

And then, the rain began to slow. The wind calmed, patches of blue sky started to appear, and a rainbow crept across the sky.

It was only a storm out of a tea cup. It soon blew over.