Twisters

The sun had risen on another average Tuesday morning. It wasn’t unique or special. Everything was normal in the small Kansas town. That is, until the storm hit. Maggie Dee was sitting just inside the door in the solitary small café in the heart of town watching as the sky darkened and the wind blew leaves down the street. Not a single drop of rain had fallen from the heavens in more than 2 months. The menacing clouds meant rain, and that was a sure sight for sore eyes. The winds picked up suddenly and the closely hemmed in buildings of the main street created a wind tunnel. A few small cars rocked lightly back and forth where they were parked. Then Maggie heard the sirens. The blaring noise caused chaos. Severe weather was a real threat in these parts. With nothing to break strong winds with on the prairie, a gusty summer breeze could blow over sheds, or worse, it could bring the disaster of a twister. The manager flipped the television channel to the weather report. All Maggie caught from the report was, “…will cause widespread devastation,” before she jumped out of her seat and bounded out of the restaurant. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk as people around her scattered to their cars or to take shelter inside the building, Maggie stared up into the sky with the wind blowing her hair streaming out behind her. What was once a kind forgiving blue had turned the color of blood as the sun filtered just slightly through the clouds. Too scared to move, Maggie stood there, just staring at the sky until the wind knocked her off her feet. Rolling sideways around the side of the restaurant, Maggie shut her eyes tightly staying crouched down. She could not hear anything past the whirling of the wind and the blaring racket of the sirens. Suddenly there was the hair-raising sound of splintering wood, and silence followed by crushing blackness.

When she finally awoke, Maggie was covered in a blanket of fractured wood and shattered glass. Slowly picking her way out, she climbed on top of the ruined building. Reality hit her like a train. The shattered structure she was on top of was the café. After gazing around what used to be the tiny town she’d grown up in, Maggie realized that it had been flattened. Every building had been crushed. There was nothing left. She struggled to grasp the fact that everything she’d ever known was gone. Maggie checked her pockets. Feeling her fingers reach her phone, she called Dylan. Even the ring of the phone sounded weird. One, two, three, four, five. Maggie counted the rings before the usual sound of a recording played on the other end.

“Hey you’ve reached Dylan, I didn’t answer the phone because I’m busy, but I’ll probably call you back,” said the recording. Maggie feared the worst. What if he’s been hurt? In frustration, Maggie started jogging. Being a Parkour runner, she could make it out to Dylan’s house. After all, it was only a half a mile away. While she was running, Maggie looked around in awe. The twister destroyed almost every building. Buildings that had withstood many years worth of windy torment had finally been broken. Many laid crumpled in her path, putting all of her Parkour experience to the test. Finally coming upon the half torn down silhouette of Dylan’s house, Maggie stopped to catch her breath. Gasping, she stared at the house. The remaining wind carried a few torn pictures of Dylan and his son, Andrew. Maggie delicately picked one up and smiled at her nephew’s wavy blond hair, and his missing teeth. Dylan smiled at the camera next to Andrew. Dylan’s hair was a mess as usual, the deep brown curls hanging low to his ice blue eyes. They looked happy, and now there was a possibility that they could both be dead.

“Dylan! Andrew!” Maggie’s calls had no responses. Wandering into the darkened shell of a house, shocked to see that the walls were spattered with the dark flecks of blood. There was a lot of it. The house appeared as though someone had had a fight, and someone or something had paid the highest price. Someone had died here. Walking around through the lower level of the home, Maggie heard a shuffling noise. It was the sound of bare feet on tile. Spinning around, Maggie was confronted with the sight of Dylan; his brown hair was stuck to his forehead. A large gash above his left eye was bleeding profusely, and the blood trickled down his cheek. Dylan’s shirt and pants were torn open, and hung in rags. There was no sign of Andrew.

Maggie stared at Dylan, who was looking off to the left staring into space. He said nothing. Maggie followed his gaze. Turning around, behind her in the living room was a small crumpled body. Maggie bolted into the room. Kneeling beside the cold shape of Andrew, she struggled to contain herself. Picking him up in her arms, Maggie held the little boy, consoling him as if he were going to perk up any minute now. Deep down, she wished he would. Andrew’s blond hair was caked with dirt, and his once fair skin was coated in scratches and dried blood. He was ice cold. Maggie had never felt anything so cold in all her life. But despite their surroundings, all was peaceful in that moment. The silence was inviting. Looking up for just a brief moment, Maggie could see Andrew standing across the room from her, a smile on his face. For that moment, the two of them locked eyes. Andrew ran over to her from where he had been standing, and threw his arms around her. The embrace was warm and calming. It was as if Andrew was telling her it would be alright. Then, Andrew backed up a few paces and waived at her before running out of the room and disappearing completely.

Utterly distraught now, Maggie wept openly. Dylan finally moved from his place in the kitchen doorway and knelt down next to her. Turning to Dylan, Maggie hugged him tightly and cried.