Chasing Storms

Exploding instantly, the horror rips through the town. Trees and homes torn asunder in a cacophony of wind and hail. Sirens drowned out as the telephone poles are wrenched from the ground, flashes of electricity arc across the shattered cables. Mothers and fathers hold their children close, hunkered in a storm cellar, waiting for this nightmare to end.
Wondering when their lives will be normal again.
Wondering if they will be greeted by angels or demons; if their lives were righteous.
Terrified by the notion that these may be their last moments, on this mortal plane.
The vortex doesn’t care about these things. It is a force of destruction, a herald of doom, shouting its fury across the land. No one man or woman can stand in its path, defiantly. All barriers are brought down. No matter how thick, the walls come down to see the unbridled anger within. The truest despair and honest terror on their faces as their worlds turn to topsoil black.
While their worlds are coming to a close, others look on with curiosity and excitement. Some want only to help, others like the spectacle of this version of hell. Battered by chunks of wood and ice they trudge ever onward.
Notations are made, film is taken. Learning all that we can from the maelstrom. Hoping that, in the future, such devastation can be avoided, or even countered. Some way to weather the weather.
The tornado ending, a ray of light splits the cell and casts light on the annihilation that lie before them. Family peer out from the wreckage, as the onlookers join them, helping however they can. Sirens from those who can help, wail in the distance.
Everything will be okay, in time. The storms will be back, but so will we.


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