The Tornado Dream

I remember five dreams from last night. Two were military dreams. The enticing dream was the tornado dream.

I was a small boy when I went outside to look at the sky. As children will, I heard of something happening. I didn’t understand most of it but the gist was that it had something to do with the sky and the weather.

So out I went. It seemed pleasant outside. Calm. I looked across a rolling housing development similar to one where I resided outside of Pittsburgh, PA, when I was young. Low lines of brick houses with aluminum siding and one and two car garages aligned on either side of neat, wide streets. No sidewalks, all the houses were setback, with proudly maintained green lawns and tidy bushes.

As I’m looking, a shout rings out. I see a man and woman pointing, then children pointing. I hear them shouting, “Tornado!” They’re pointing toward me. I look up. A narrow, silvery gray funnel is descending from the clouds toward me.

Crying for help, I throw myself down and clutch the grass, yelling as the funnel cloud rotates around me, tugging at my body. I hang on, shouting for Mom, “Help, the tornado is trying to get me.” I look back. It’s still there. Other funnels are descending.

I keep hanging on until the tornado vanishes. Nobody comes to help me, but I survive unscathed. Dream end.

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