Disaster #1 [tornado]
“And come, tornado!
Carry me away from the croft.
Ruffle my hair, bear my body aloft, oh!”
Owen Pallett, Heartland, “Midnight Directives”
He could feel it in his bones. A tornado was coming. There had never been one like this.
When the storms came he would not run or hide. He would watch from the top of the hill.
He often dreamed of tornadoes. His body, light; his soul, light; his heart, light. In these dreams he would be taken into the tornado and flung around in the air, arms outstretched, laughing. He would cross miles and miles. He would be spun around until he was dizzy and then he would be spun some more. He had no control. He would usually black out, and when he came to the tornado would be gone - instead, surrounding him, a land of sun where the people would greet him with a wave and a smile and the loaves of bread were big and fluffy and the crops always grew and the animals never starved and the rain came only when needed (and always when needed) and there would be lots of green and no gray or brown to remind him of his old home.
Of course, dreams are just dreams.
He would watch the tornados from the top of the hill. He would track them with his eyes, stoic, knowing that they would not harm him or his land. All would be fine. It had always been fine.
He loved them, in a way, the tornadoes.
He often thought that they loved him in return.
A tornado was coming and he could feel it in his heart. There had never been one like this.
Perhaps this was his chance to awake in a new land.
Of course, dreams are just dreams, and in the end all he could do was stand there and watch as the tornado destroyed everything he had ever worked for.
