The Sky is Purple

The sky is lit purple as I grip the wheel tightly, all of my senses on edge. Every few seconds, lightning splits the sky all around me, briefly illuminating a world made dark.

The highway is soaked, rain whipping at my car with its punishing lash as the wind threatens to push me off the road. I have taken a different route than normal, tonight: I felt when leaving work that I simply shouldn't take the Interstate, and I listen to my instincts when faced with the very real possibility of death.

I can barely hear the radio over the roar of the elements outside, but the high, mechanical shrill catches my attention: three short beeps, and then a fourth, longer tone. I turn the radio up, and I can make out the words now: deadly lightning ... destructive hail ... tornado warning continues until 1AM ....

The windows have all fogged up, protesting the sudden cold shower compared to the relatively mild temperatures we've been seeing these last few weeks. I turn the defrost up, keeping my eyes firmly locked ahead. I can make out the center line mostly by its reflection in my headlights - it's slightly different than the rest of the shiny water. I can still barely see.

I am relieved when I finally pull up to my house and park. Mom's car is already here, and she's climbing out of it. I dart ahead, opening the door and turning off the alarm so she doesn't have to worry. The light doesn't turn on immediately, but that's okay; I unplugged it last night because it wasn't cooperating.

On the news, we learn that tornadoes have touched down all across the area, demolishing buildings and devastating several cities - one town will not allow any traffic inside beyond emergency vehicles.

And one of many storms is inbound, with slight rotation already started.

I'm okay now.

I'm okay.