From the back of the truck, I could see the mass of dark, looming clouds fill with the light of burning lightning soon to be followed by an explosion of thunder and millions of water droplets pouring from their dark midsts. Small squares made the village I called home. The rows of homes and stores were tinted black as the horizon are them. A jagged bolt of lightning cracked through the still air, colliding with the roof of what looked like the 7-11 at midtown. The wind whipped my hair against my forehead as the breeze grew into a gale and then a gust. Thunder paired with the pounding of rain against the ground was soon dissolved in the train like howl of the wind. In the far distance, the funnel of a cyclone spun out of control, slamming into the ground. The truck sped up as the dirt in the cyclones trail turned to brick. We drove as far as it took until all I could see was the dust cloud that trailed the truck. Once the storm ceased, we spun so hard I was nearly flung from the car. As the storm had ended, our beautiful town had been destroyed, yet so many amazing things had come out of it.