Tornado-Personal Narrative

Tornado Icy cold fear ran along my spine when I stared up at the darkening sky. The clouds had a green tinge and an ominous look about them. The wind, eager to add to the hysteria, was cackling through the trees, blowing off leaves like wrapping paper. Even branches succumbed to it’s will, breaking off with a snap. A siren, louder then the chaos, pierced the air with a shriek, telling me one word. Tornado. Horror was evident on my pale face as I went as white as a sheet. My head was spinning, my knees were wobbling. My cold and trembling hand was suddenly warm and steady. I looked down at it and saw a much larger hand grasping my little one. “Grace, you need to get inside and in the basement.” My father motioned his head towards the door, but I remained motionless. He tugged me out of my paralyzed state and into the house, which had turned into a bee hive. “I have the emergency radio, gallons of water, snacks, and flashlights with fresh batteries in them. Boys, come with me, and bring the dog. Grace, grab your tablet and your

It was the only place that didn’t have windows and maybe the safest place we could be. I looked down at my family. My mom was listening intently to Craig Donnelly on the radio. Both boys were snuggled up next to her, on the verge of crying. They petted our chestnut colored dog, using her like a security blanket. Terror etched into their distraught features. Peter sat across from my mom, fiddling on his phone. Each had a comforting pillow and blanket to call their own. I plopped down on the itchy black-speckled white carpet next to them. I could tell my mom had sprayed some air freshener because the corridor reeked of baked cinnamon apples, dirty socks, and fear. The scent was so intense, my nose burned. Coming down for a minute to see if we were hunkered down, my dad smothered us with even more blankets. Then he went trudging back up the