Twisted

We were not, at all, ready. As I meditate, thinking back on the great disaster, I realize that we had been totally clueless.

         You are probably thinking, “Why should I esteem this stranger? What could she possibly have to tell me worth anything?”

         Well, I have come to tell a true story. I did, in fact, discern it with my own eyes, so listen closely. I will tell you of the Twister.

         It was a beautiful summer’s day. No one was actually doing anything. The whole town just seemed to loiter around in the sunshine. Some played in the river, wading in the cool, shallow water. Others chose to swing over the grassy field full of wild flowers. Everyone seemed to be in one accord.

         Then, suddenly, the sky turned a light shade of ebony. There was a simultaneous deluge of dust, thickening the air. Everyone raced to find a citadel.

         We were all filled with apprehension. “What is happening?” the entire town seemed to whisper silently.

         The brevity of the time between calm and chaos was almost unbelievable. People tried to salvage what they could, but they couldn’t risk being outside when the cyclone hit.

         We stayed in the shelter until we were sure that the storm was all over. We realized, too late, that it the Twister wasn’t done with us yet. This time, it came even more rapidly than before. Only the people who were still inside the shelters were saved from the storm’s deadly grasp.

         I was so close to climbing out of the doors. I was the one who heard the screams. I heard the cries of my friends and neighbors, but I had to shut them out. I had to close the doors to our shelter, before the Twister engulfed us.

         Out of over one hundred and fifty people, thirty two remain alive today. Many men, women, and children died that day.

         I will never be able to forget the horrific shouts of all those people. I relive those memories every night. People try to comfort me. I know that everyone could have died if I hadn’t shut the door. It is me, who gets to live on to tell the story.

         The deriding of myself is the greatest thing I have to cope.