Despair Five days. It seemed like an eternity. Five days since the violent tornado raged through the small neighborhood where I had lived all of my life. Clad in the casual T-shirt and jeans I had run away in, I stopped at the base of the hill, where I frequently rode my bike, again and again, recklessly fast down the long curving road. No riding today. The road to my cul de sac is strewn with wood and other debris from where the tornado shredded homes, trees, and power lines in it’s path through the area. The police in charge corroborate my identification with a cursory glance at me before allowing me to duck under the yellow tape. I derived that he felt quite sorry for me. I can still remember the blind panic I felt when I heard the tornado
