The Storm

Tearing holes in me, shredding my insides like paper.
This tornado hits close to home,
I watch as those around me run for cover,
while I stand my ground.

I know this fight I can not win,
but running would not save me either.
As blackness quickly sweeps down the street,
I look onward pretending to pay it no attention.

For it is not the tornado that terrifies me,
Nor is it the death and destruction that will follow it's strike.
My fear lies with what has true importance,
as I stare at her, frozen with fear.

It is only her life I will try to save,
and you might think that a selfish thought.
But no one else is near me anyways,
not that I'd try to save them either way.

I reach out gently,
extending my hand carefully,
nodding for her to take it.
Waiting for what seems like a lifetime,
while she stands there,
fear stricken and hazy eyed.

When at last I gain her attention,
she waits only a heartbeat before taking my hand.
It is clear to me that she does not understand,
having never witnessed anything this horrifying,
living the sheltered life, as I once had.

I turn to lead her forward,
towards the storm we must go.
To run will lead to certain death,
to face will take us past the test.

She jerks her hand away in panic,
clearly having believed we were headed away from the storm.
Before she turns to run I cause her to pause for a moment,
as I ask her if she trusts me,
whispering it almost inaudibly.

She screams at me in reply,
with complete horror spelled out across her face.
That she does not trust me,
and turns almost instinctively to run.

I watch as she is sucked up in the spin of the storm,
and I feel as though I've been robbed.
A great sadness overcomes me,
as I try not to think of what came of her.