In the Wee Hours

The storm hit. The wind sent dust and papers and cars spinning in its vortex. Hail pelted down, denting the ground, shattering windows; bullet-like, hail shot through buildings, until it lodged in the soft soft bodies of an animals or people, who were dying everywhere. The sound was deafening. A high-pitched wail, like a banshee or a screaming tornado siren in a beleaguered Midwestern farm town, rose above the cacophony of buses and trucks twisting and crashing into each other, rose above the roar of the trembling buildings shaking and collapsing into each other. The pressure of the storm pushed … Read more