The rain sliced through my drenched clothing as if I were buck-naked. Where was I?
I bit back my fear.
I knew every inch of this land like the back of my hand, didn’t I? So what if I couldn’t see that hand if I stuck it out in front of me?
Was the rain lessening?
I began to see light. The edge of the storm!
There was Wiken’s barn, standing proud and beautiful in the sunlight as if the storm didn’t exist.
I started to run, but then I heard it, like a freight train barreling towards me…
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Tornadoes usually form at the trailing edge of the storm. As a child growing up in Ohio I saw several tornadoes, but the closest I was to one, it was raining so hard I couldn’t see it…