The tornado was a twisted scream, an ire bent into a hellacious wrath. Ere long we would be ripped apart. Ere long all that we knew would be gone. Such is the way of wind-born beasts. Of empathy, they have none. Of malice, they have much. My heart was an automaton as the wind blew on, not from the call of coldness, nor the self-preservation's siren call, yet from a rationale of stoicism. Come the morrow, whate'er still stands. I will be ready to rebuild.
The trees creaked outside and the dust was whipped up into the air, semi-blinding us as we looked to the twisters across the plains. There were three of them. Three gigantic columns of violently twisting air rotating around each other. At first we stood there and recorded it on our cell phones, then we had fun leaning into the wind and letting it catch us. But as the twister got closer we realized it was on a direct path to our home. The radio was calling it an F2 on the Fujita scale, we'd be lucky if our house still had a roof this time tomorrow. There was only one thing for it, we packed up the truck and crammed us all inside, including the dog. Then we drove like Satan himself was on our tail and speed-limits be damned.