Then. 

        The image of dark gray clouds is the only thing I can see when I look out the window. 

That and the rain downpouring onto the dark green grass that was nearly the color of a lime yesterday. 

And when I put both my hands past those barn doors, all I can feel is the pitter-pattering sound against my palms. 

A storm is coming. 

My brown leather boots step foot into the large brown puddle of mud and matter and within seconds a huge gust of wind has nearly blown me off my feet. 

But still, like I have done ever since I was a babe, my head remains still, strong and defiant as the heels of my boots sink further and further into the mud. The wind blows my hair in all sorts of different directions but I don't care. 

My eyes are shut and there's a stupid smile on my face while I ignore the sound of the horses neighing behind me because all I want is to feel. 

I feel the squashing of mud, my own boots trying to fight the way they burrow so deeply into the torn ground. I can feel the energy around me shifting -- the wind blowing me right in my core. Like a breath of fresh air. 

The two horses behind me, both making their own sounds of protest and worry as they kick their hooves up from the ground. They can feel it. 

The wet mud coating the hard soles of my boots prevent any sound at all. There should be a distinct sound of my feet hitting the wooden floors of this red barn but they don't echo off the walls at all. 

"Cool it, baby." My small hand pets the side of my black and white-spotted horse's face. "A storm is a beautiful thing." 

My other hand wraps delicately around the tassle around the brown horse's neck. I offer him a smile. 

But I can hardly contain the excitement bubbling up inside of me. 

I slide on my mud-riddled boots, catching myself at the very end like I'm a performer on a stage. A wicked grin apparent on my face, I run out into the field and feel the rain dampen my hair and the cotton of my flannel. 

This was my favorite flannel -- white with red squares and blue stitching. Like a replica of the American flag that I loved so. 

My arms wrap around my small frame and my head looks up into the sky but I don't bother opening my eyes. 

I don't need to because even with them closed I can see the lightning strike flash as if it's just a yard in front of me. 

Thunder booms and it's like music to my ears. 

"A storm is coming!" I yell out like it's a song I want to sing forever. And maybe I do. 

"Dallas!" My mother's voice calls out for me. "Get inside! You're going to catch a cold!" 

"Can't, mama! A storm is coming!" This time I say the words with a laugh hidden in between. 

I can hear her slam the door shut and I can only assume it's because she's going to go get my father. 

And I'm giggling so loud you might have almost mistook it for the next boom of thunder that's about to clap. 

First, there's the lightning. And not even a second later, there's a thundering noise so loud and powerful that I'm knocked off my feet. 

My back is the first thing I feel that clashes with the muddy grass. Then it's the rest of my body, but not my head. 

And when I open my eyes, it's like I can't keep them open at all. 

The sky has almost turned black and between the hail and the rain and the wind -- I can't see a thing. 

The horses -- Dolly and Bolt -- are practically screaming but it's nothing compared to the sound of alarms blaring in the distance mixed with the sound of wind gusps soaring as if inside my ears. 

And God, nothing could have made me miss the dark gray thing twisting round and round just a few miles away from where I stand in my backyard. 

"Dallas!" My mother calls out a second time, and her voice sounds so strained as if she'd been on her twelfth try. 

A storm is coming. For me. 

I try to stand but I can't even get propped up on my elbows without nearly being blown away.

"Dallas!" This time, it's my father, and he's right behind me. His firm strong hands just below my armpits and he pulls me up. 

I'm suddenly against his chest with my legs wrapped around his middle and my head looking past his shoulder and right into the eyes of the storm. At the tornado coming right through the field. 

My father is running (or, trying to) and I'm bouncing up and down with each movement of his foot. 

He has his hand holding my head in place against his shoulder and he says something I can't quite make out but I know he says babygirl at the end of it. 

I'm able to see my mother's look of utter concern as soon as my pa places me in the doorway of our house. 

My mother holds me close to her for a moment before ushering me into the dim-lit hallway with only one candle on the tabletop. The power is out. 

My father isn't behind us, though. No, the door slams shut behind him as he runs back out into the eye of the storm as the darkness follows quickly behind him. 

My ma opens the door but the wind quickly protests it. "Donny, you get back inside here now!" 

But neither of us can hear what he says next because the white door slams shut, protecting us from the storm. 

My ma has to take a moment before quickly remembering I exist -- a confused little girl staring at her with big brown eyes of concern. 

She looks at me, teary-eyed, and quickly squeezes my hand while her opposite finds the small of my back and she guides me down the dark hallway and to the bathroom. 

It's completely dark -- no thanks to the small tinted window that is off-centered above the shower's tiles. 

"We're going to be brave, baby." She tells me, her accent thicker than usual. I've noticed it does that only when she's yelling at my pa or when she's afraid of something. Is she afraid of the storm? "Okay?" 

I nod. "You know it's just a storm," I almost giggle at her. "Right, mama?" 

A tear slides down her cheek and I can see her world collapse behind her beautiful brown eyes. It's disheartening. 

But she gives me another warrior's smile and nods. Her hand cups my cheek. "I know, baby." 

The sirens sound like they're tormenting me almost -- and the winds no longer sound like a song I want to sing. 

"I'm gonna go look for your daddy." she tells me as she tugs open the shower curtain, revealing the cracks that had already been there in the porcelain of the tub and the rusting faucet. "Sit in here, and I'll be right back." 

I obey, sitting in the tub like I used to as a babe. 

She gives me another smile and her eye twitches once again before another crystal clear tear slides down her aging face. "Mama will be right back, baby." 

I nod, my tummy suddenly feeling like it's being twisted by a man's hand. 

She closes the door and it's like my stomach is about to burst, my heartbeat becoming rhythmic with the music of the thunder and wind. 

I hear the front door slam shut soon enough, then a gust of wind right in my face as shards of glass fall ontop of me from the window above my head. 

I'm bathing in a tub of glass now. And I'm wet with rain instead of the shower head's hard water. 

It's like the storm has found me -- even in what's supposed to be my shelter. 

But it doesn't shelter me from anything actually, because I can still hear my mother cry out for my father as he gets swept away by my only friend.