As the skies grew darkest, I was left alone..
Loneliness is my home, when most I feel.
Inside I prayed that you'd protect me..
Verily, I go where only I can.
Ever I will forgive you for my passage.
And in that dream, it so happened:
I was sitting at a bench in a large field before what appeared to be a stereotypical New England private college (white, pristine, old but well maintained, statues dotting the courtyard- it even had the classic path leading to a circle going both ways about a fountain in the middle of the path). I was not alone; at least, I was not alone, technically. Sarah and a few other people that were paying little attention to me were there, too, and though I wasn't particularly enjoying the interaction with the other people (because, as I said, they paid me little heed), I wasn't too miserable.
The sky, as we sat beneath it, appeared as most skies do right before a wicked, fast-moving storm, except that the clouds morphed from type to type, changed color, and moved from here to there within seconds. A cloud that was a steel grey one moment became black the next and then would revert back to a near-white, dull grey. I was spending a lot of time looking at the sky, and as I watched, a group of terribly black clouds conjoined and formed what soon became a funnel-cloud and then- in a matter of seconds- a tornado that was about a half-mile from us (yet not bothering us, yet). At first, its path pushed it towards the beautifully stereotypical school building, but it soon bounced back and headed towards the picnic table where we sat when it reached the school's gates.
My friends, who were sitting on the ends of the picnic tables (in other words, in positions which allowed them to get up from the table and run with little effort), sped away in directions horizontal to the table, but I was unable to rise in time to safely run (I was situtated in the middle of the table and took a long while climbing over the bench). By the time I freed myself of the bench's stiff support, I had no time to run either right or left (I know, in reality, a tornado wouldn't be able to be escaped by running right or left away from it, but). I fell to the ground- somewhat like the suggestion always made for one to lay in a ditch, should one be out when a tornado forms- and held tight to the muddy, perfect, prepatory school sod. Ten dream seconds or so later- and after already beginning a feverish prayer to God to help me through and keep me from harm- the tornado was atop of me, where it span in its circle for a good ten seconds or so, trying its hardest to uproot me from the ground. I kept praying and my task- to stay connected to the grass in order to not be sucked into the vortex- was easy. The tornado passed and continued on.
Afterwards, in the halls of the school, as my friends began to gossip about the tornado, I would interject with my story of being within it and not being harmed. However, even though I presented my story each time with zeal, each time my "friends" (many of them the ones who fled in fear themselves) payed little attention to me and my story and, in fact, blatantly ignored me (as people often do in reality).
I had made it through a tough time, with God's help, and no one cared to hear of what was, to me, a miracle.
It both foretells and sheds insight on the past. This story- my story- is all my own. What is spectacular to me is old hat to others.. Or simply not interesting in the least. I have my tales. And I wouldn't trade them for anything.