Watching Tornadoes

I'm only a bystander, watching as steaming lava and crumbling rock departs from the inner core of the volcano. A Rock is thrown, like a discus, from within the volcanoes tip. It soars above my head, among the devilish red of the autumn sky. It soars and soars, pieces of the large Rock slowly detaching from its base, each second. Finally, what is left of the Rock mound, which is nothing more than a pebble, lands at my feet. The Pebble glows red, still cooling from the burning sensation of the lava’s touch.
I’m alone and curious.
My fingers give in to temptation, and they touch the seemingly burning Pebble.
There is no heat, nor is it cool.
Instead, I’m brought into the core of the Pebble’s soul. The Rock’s damaging plight shown before my eyes.
I can see where the Rock had been only moments before. I see the lava boiling, spurting burning liquid in every direction. Neon orange surrounds my every view point. The lava’s steam fogs up the untouched rocks which rest near the roof of the volcano. One familiar Rock sits on a ledge near the tip. Suddenly, a giant spurt of lava is shot from the pool of magma and hits the Rock’s ledge of safety. The ledge breaks free from the wall, as if a thread was cut and it begins to fall towards the hot pool, dragging the stone down with it. The large Rock squirms once it lands in the steamy pool of lava. The Rock battles its opponent one on one, to avoid drowning within the depths of the hot, acidic substance.
A winner is announced by the sudden whirl of lava, forcing the Rock beneath the surface. The volcano begins to lightly vibrate. The intensity rises, the shaking grows, which then makes the volcano violently shake, putting my body in the state of fright. My hands grab onto a nearby rock which is seems to be attached firmly. The lava begins to rise like a cup being filled with water. The lava’s color turns to a dark red as it fills to the brim. Once the level of the lava centers, it suddenly shoots to the surface as if a bullet is being shot from a gun, after pulling the trigger. The burning lava spews out the tip and begins to cascade along the exterior of the volcano.
The Rock, finally visible, zooms through the air, finally free of the steamy and dry environment of within. However, even with this freedom, the Rock still begins to lose itself as small pieces are practically disintegrating from its base, while flying through the arid air. From each breaking piece, the Rock’s delicacy grows. Each piece that detaches makes the Rock lose more and more of itself.
A second passes, another piece dies.
Another second goes by, and another piece says its final goodbyes.
Another second gone and another piece too, departs.
The remainder of the Rock soars through the sky and finally, what is left of the Rock mound, which is nothing more than a pebble, lands at my feet. The Pebble glows red, still cooling from the burning sensation of the lava’s touch. I peer in its direction, and slowly, but painfully, the Pebble transforms from the scarred stone of the volcano’s core, to a damaged yet free soul.