Oblivious

The air tingles with electricity and I feel the pin prick sensation crawling up my arms and down my back as I walk across the parking lot to my truck. I glance up at the sky without slowing my pace. It is now black with clouds. On the horizon, however, is the clear blue, Florida sky. The eeriness of the afternoon compels my feet to move quicker, before the rain comes. Driving home, the large drops of rain become hail, golf ball sized hail and and as suddenly as it started it stops. A calm quiet fills my ears. Slowly my gaze moves to the rear view mirror and my body freezes. Behind me is a tornado. Not a small one; a monstrous sized tornado as big as the one in “Twister.” Just then I hear a sickening crunch and as my truck slams into a parked car. The tornado is coming fast but the truck has stalled. It won’t start. “Come on. Come on. I don’t have time for this,” I say, seeing the on ramp to the freeway a hundred yards away. The engine catches and I hear the low rumble as it starts. Putting the truck in gear I slam my foot on the gas and pull away, scraping the totaled car as I leave. “Sorry about that,” I say to the injured lady.

Word Count: 227