The squall hits my right temple like a knuckled sucker punch. I wince, eyes clenched and welling. The voltage radiates across the right side of my face. Sharp pulses fire across my cheekbones, around my orbital socket, and down my sinus cavity.
A low-grade, slow-moving hurricane swings in, dropping the barometer and bumping up the temperature bit by bit. Heat pours off the nape of my neck; skin sweaty, prickly, and red. Throbbing swells like an ocean rolling in my head.
The thunder rides in on a low, guttural rumble that rises into a cacophonous roar. I don’t know if the grinding is inside my head or my teeth.
The irrevocable tornado arrives, wrapping bands of pain around my cranium, tightening with every rotation. Darkness.
Sunlight reflects off an undeveloped Polaroid sitting atop a mound of rubble. Scribbled on the white frame: 1976-2026.
What it's like to die by tornado. I bet you're very close to it. I love the Polaroid at the end. Excellent touch, Lee.