Violent wind and rain tears clinging leaves from the trees and lightening dances hypnotically. Rain is coming down sideways in beautiful sheets beating against the windows. It’s the end of fall.

You stand at your window watching this. The power of mother nature captivating you there and you think of nature’s power and how it always reminds us of our weakness. You stand there for several minutes before walking to your couch and falling back into it heavily, and light up a joint to enjoy with the show.

The music on the radio is interrupted by the shrieks of emergency broadcasting. There’s a tornado to the southeast, it’s moving northeast at fifty-five miles per hour. In your stoned mind you try and work out a set of calculations. You need to decide quickly if you should seek shelter in the bathtub.

“Moving northeast at fifty-five miles per hour?” you ask out loud. “Well, let’s see. Northeast, that would be up and to the right. Yeah, I should be fine.” You’re northwest of it.

The music comes back on. Mournful twangs of Bluegrass fill the room once again and become the sound track for the storm. The rain eases into a steady, soothing rhythm. Intermittent flashes of light fill the sky and your dark apartment.

You sit there for another ten minutes, or maybe an hour, letting the sounds of the music and rain and the occasional deep rumble of thunder run through and around you. But now you’re bored and get up, turn off the radio and turn on the lights and TV.

In the distance, the rising and falling pitch of a lonely siren. A police car? A fire truck? An ambulance? It’s impossible to tell. The rain has stopped and, suddenly, everything seems right with the world, or at least your little corner of it.

The siren is growing louder.

You walk to the refrigerator.

This siren isn’t coming for you.

This moment is nothing more than memories laid over a twisted reality. Your throat hurts, a small stabbing pain fights its way up against a strange kind of detached numbness.

The floor creaks as you walk back to the couch with your heavy pudding cups.

There’s a couch on your neck. It grows heavy.

You sit down, the floor creaks again.

A comedy is on the TV. You hope the cool, soft pudding will sooth your throat. Taking a few spoonfuls you feel better.

Darkness all around you and you’re soaking wet.

The sirens reach their crescendo. They are here for you.

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