by John Cox

Likes: 7
Words: 200

It was the biggest Wedge Cyclone in history. The 2027 El Reno 2 event was named after the previous biggest tornado that occurred in the same place.

As I am sure you can guess that place is El Reno, OK. El Reno was the kind of place you could get a nice fried onion burger, while playing golf, with a view of a lake imaginatively named El Reno Lake. A simple town with simple people.

El Reno 2 hit on a beautiful spring day wiping out the town in a matter of minutes. The Church gone, the restaurants downtown gone, the town square torn to pieces. Debris was everywhere. The 3.7 mile twister spread it's conquest wide, no trailer, or house, was left untouched. Miraculously, no one was claimed by The Beast. Everyone survived.

The people came together seeing the lack of casualties as a sign that God was not done with their little town. Like Nehemiah said, "the people had a mind to build." Neh 4:6. Within a week everyone had a place to sleep at night. Within a month the town was functioning again. The People and their Spirit are what was left by the storm.

by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 6
Words: 198

They made their way out of the storm-cellar and surveyed the damage. The henhouse was gone, as was most of the barn's roof. The shed where John had shut up the ducks was leaning as if it needed to catch its breath, but inside the ducks and ducklings were fine.

One of the attic windows, where the hired girls slept, had a branch through it and Ned the hired hand scratched his head as he looked at the broken timber. Perhaps he was remembering the times he'd climbed through that window on his way to visit one of the girls, John couldn't say.

They made their way to the front of the house, where everything seemed untouched. Mrs Eccles made her way inside, just to see if everything was where it should be. John started to pick up debris -- there were shingles and bits of wood everywhere -- when he suddenly saw it.

Nestled in the lilac bush as if it was lying in a cradle, there was a baby. A real one. A blonde little girl, gurgling and reaching out toward him. He picked her up and yelled for Mr and Mrs Eccles to come and see her.

by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 6
Words: 200

The sky was green. The world moved in the distance. It sounded like a freight train, but not as quiet. Everything shook. Hard.

Tobias Vale turned sixteen that morning, and he was the first one out of the bunker. Mom, Dad, and both sisters emerged.

"House looks good, Dad, but the mailbox is gone." Tobias looked toward the fields, no longer obstructed by the barn. "Barn's totaled."

"I guess we'll have to rebuild," said Mr. Vale. "Grab a new kit from the cellar."

"Same settings as last time?"

"Bigger hay loft. Don't forget the weather vane this time."

"Dad? What's that?" Where the barn once stood, a sparkly new Vortex S hovered.

"Planned to surprise you tonight. Happy birthday, buddy."

"Can I take it for a spin?"

Mr. Vale tossed Tobias the keys to the new flying saucer. "Make it quick. Chores. Supper in twenty."

Tobias grinned. He hopped in the machine, hovered for a few seconds, and blasted off. He traced the border of Texas and headed home.

Tobias grabbed the barn kit and entered the settings. Almost forgot the rooster vane. As the nanos finished the barn, Mom rang the dinner bell.

It was the best birthday ever.

by 500A.H.

Likes: 5
Words: 202

Cricket was eleven, and his powers made him stronger than pa, which meant he got the worst chores.

“Get the bull in!” Pa shouted from the basement, though the sky had turned dark and the clouds were twisting like angry gods wringing a towel.

Cricket hated this farm. Hated the mud, the yelling, the way being useful never made anyone kind. Still, he ran into the wind, grabbed the bull’s rope, and dragged the terrified beast toward the barn while fences tore loose in his wake.

Inside, he slammed the doors just as the world began screaming.

The bull pressed against him, shivering. Cricket held him down with one arm around his neck, strong enough to keep both of them alive, young enough to cry where no one could see.

Then CRASH.

Rain whispered through broken slats. Cricket pushed outside first.

Ten feet from where he was lay a scaled dragon egg the size of a wagon, smoking in a trench it had carved through the field. Runes glowed across its shell. Tiny wings flickered inside.

Cricket stared, breathless.

Pa would call it trouble.

Ma would call it wicked.

Cricket sighed. “Great,” he muttered. “Another thing I’m cleaning up. Before supper, too.”

by Neviena Dēls

Likes: 5
Words: 188

When the tornado passed, the Harris house stood open to the sky like a cracked egg. Daniel walked through the wreckage at dawn, stepping over soaked insulation and splintered beams while the smell of wet timber clung to the air. He kept expecting grief to arrive all at once, but instead it came in strange pieces: his daughter’s red rain boot hanging from a tree branch, the kitchen clock still ticking beneath broken glass, the family photograph lodged carefully inside a fence post half a block away.

Neighbors wandered the street in stunned silence, carrying armfuls of whatever the wind had spared. Daniel found his wife sitting on the curb with muddy hands wrapped around a dented biscuit tin. Inside were recipe cards written by her mother, the edges curled but readable, and she cried harder for those scraps of paper than for the collapsed house behind them. The storm had taken walls, furniture, photographs, and certainty, yet somehow left the smallest things untouched.

That evening, as generators hummed across the ruined neighborhood, Daniel hammered a crooked sign into the ground beside the rubble. It read: Still here.

by Kathy Goddard writer

Likes: 4
Words: 200

Tornados are rare in the UK - the last big one was around twenty years ago. What did this one leave behind? Questions mostly.

Gran’s questions are endless.

‘Where’s the house gone, Maureen? Where will I sleep tonight? Where’s the house gone, Maureen?

She can’t help it. Dementia’s a cruel disease, stealing her memories. I’ve been forgotten. Maureen was my mum, not me. She died still wondering what had happened to her father, who disappeared when she was a child.

I have questions too. Why us? What did we do to deserve this? Don’t I have enough to deal with, looking after Gran?

The house is gone. Gran’s cottage is now just a heap of rubble surrounded by fallen trees. Our neighbours’ properties are, of course, undamaged.

The sirens are getting closer. I hope the police are amongst the emergency services. I suspect I’ll need them. The tornado left something else behind - the answer to Grandad’s disappearance.

Tangled in tree roots lies a skeleton, a knife stuck between the ribs. Gran glances at it, looks me in the eye and says,

‘I had to do it, Maureen. I had no choice - I couldn’t let him hurt you like he hurt me.’

by Author Lisa Marie

Likes: 4
Words: 200

The Great Depression took enough. Then came the great destruction. It was March 21, 1932. I remember the day the town of Beaverdale vanished from the map. One of the few today who would.

I was sitting on my front porch, tucked against the wall to avoid the driving rain, a warm cup of coffee nestled in my hands as I watched the gray sky swallow the mountain view. The first day of spring had come and gone, but the weather hadn’t been kind. Neither had the year before.

There was a certain hope that came with the first day of spring. Today, that hope was gone. Hours later, I emerged from under the floor of my cabin to find the remnants of my home a distant memory. It wasn’t the only thing. An F4, more than a mile wide in places, had taken the town with it. 15 dead. Countless others injured.

Beaverdale lives on in name only, passed down through generations, but it is no longer its own town. No post office. No forwarding address. Only a gas station on a rural highway still boasts the name of a community that made its mark, only to lose everything.

by Dan J Roberts - Author

Likes: 4
Words: 200

The adult toy warehouse wasn't there when we built the house twenty years ago, and it's not there today.

It was there yesterday, though.

Tornadoes are random at best, and this is another great example of their selective nature. It completely missed the Shady Acres Mobile Home Park and instead had its way with the "Batteries Not Included" building at the end of my road.

Before today, not everyone knew what they made there, and they mostly kept to themselves.

That all changed when the tornado touched down in the parking lot and ripped the roof off the building, scattering the contents of the warehouse across the neighborhood and half the county.

Indeed, It was a sight to behold.

Like something out of a Ray Stevens song.

The Baptist church got it worse than anywhere else.

The roof is low-pitched and has accumulated a collection of um... let's just call it inventory. Midmorning, some concerned citizens spotted the newly acquired decorations and alerted the press.

Our house was mostly untouched.

I am currently standing out on the corner with a whole list of puns lined up in my head, hoping to get interviewed by the local news. Wish me luck.

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 1
Words: 343

Note: I don't have good internet and I’m posting this from my phone. I couldn’t verify my words. I didn’t want to miss out!

Sal pushed open the root cellar door. The yard was unrecognizable. Their dilapidated swing set was gone. Only the the sheds foundation remained. But the strangest thing was the house.

He scratched his head.

“Martha come look.”

Martha peeked over the board, a low moan escaping her lips. “My god….”

“Do you see it? The house?” He pointed.

Martha shifted her gaze to the house, and her jaw dropped.

“Wha-what, whose… house is that?”

“I have no clue. Come on.” He waved to Martha as he left the safety of the cellar.

Each of them staring wide eyed at the walked to the strange house.

“But our house was white.” Martha whispered.

“Definitely not blue.” Sal replied.

“We had a one story, isn’t that right?” Martha questioned.

“Surly not two.”

“Go on, knock.” She insisted.

“But it’s….”

“It’s our land but that isn’t our house.”

“Yes dear. Ahem….” Sal straightened his shirt and cleared his throat.”

knock-knock

His eyes shifted to his wife as if asking ,really. Sal knocked again.

“Ahh, this is silly.” He pulled the door open, hollering, “Hello there. Is anyone home?”

Silence shifted as he walked into the living room. It was immaculate.

He looked at Martha who caressed the plush sofa. “I’ll check upstairs.” White painted steps and no creaking.

“Oh my god. Martha you have to see this.” Sal gaped as Martha strode up behind him.

“Who? Oh my goodness”

A little boy of three sat on the floor building with blocks.

His gaze turned to them and a smile formed. Without a word he ran up to Martha and hugged her waist.

Tears streamed down her face. “Oh, Sal, can it really be?”

Sal scooted down to the boys level., his voice shaking.

“What’s your name, son?”

The boy pulled away from Martha, his blue eyes penetrating Sal.

“John, don’t you remember me, papa.” He fell into Sals arms with a hug.

A tender warmth enveloped him. It had been fifteen years since John had died. How could he be here? Now, like this?