Twisted Forces

March 12th, 2009

(Non lucid dream recording)

I see a brown-bricked apartment building up ahead.  In the far distance,  my dad stands in the doorway of the main entrance. He waves his arms frantically over his head. Thinking that he is about to lecture me, I decide to drag my feet.

His jaw drops and he shouts, “Oh my God!”

I squint hard and realize he is staring up at the sky. I spin around. Heavy, black and blued bruised clouds descend to the ground and sweep through dust. About half a mile away, a spinning force of wild wind  rips through the fallen clouds.  I feel a harsh yank to my right arm. My dad  drags me toward the apartment building.

I can’t help but look back.

Across the lobby, people scream, cry and scramble about. “Holy smokes ! This is like the movie Twister! Dad?!” I yell out of breath.

He is already 10  feet ahead of me. My dad leads the way down a flight of stairs.  I stop short and peek out a broken window. Violent thunder bellows as a tornado tears through mounds of earth. A faint whirring sound  forces my gaze up toward the sky. I frown.

Tiny grey fighter aircraft circle the tornado and drop tiny round objects into the Twister. A dark thought of man-made disaster creeps into my mind.

“Nikitaaaaaaaa!!!!” calls my dad from far below the ground floor. Flying debris punches at the walls as people stumble and push past me.  I am forced against the wall as the crowds rush past me. My mind buzzes. Time seems to tick backwards.

I close my eyes and remember reading about the beautifully peaceful place  inside the eye of a tornado. The center  is supposedly surrounded by soft walls of fluffy clouds.

My eyes flash open.

A chunk of wall smashes to the ground and spreads cracks into the ground. I turn to run down the flight of stairs but a gush of wind hurls a tree trunk through the wall. I look again but just see a blank wall – the stairwell is gone . It’s as if it was never there.

I run into the lobby in search for elevators on the ground level.  There are none. Trails of half dragged luggage lay strewn along an empty passage way. I am the only one left on ground floor. A deep rumbling sends me running back and forth in panic. I decide to dash back the way I came but instead, I pause. On the other side of the lobby, my dad stares out a crooked-framed window.

“Dad!” I yell. No sound travels. I don’t care, I’m just glad to see my dad. I  push aside flung couches and stand beside him.

As the land explodes in slow motion, we continue to stare into the unseen eye of disaster.

omaha_storm_2008_by_tbertz-By Nikita King

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