I walk along the cold dunes of sand beneath a gloomy gray sky. Storm clouds meet the ocean horizon and there is a gently violent breeze pushing bits of sand into my face. Between the hills lay several quaint, wooden homes, but no one was currently occupying them. Shutters were waving noiselessly back and forth revealing gossamer curtains in the windows at irregular intervals. I walk on past the simple dwellings.

Cresting a knoll, I see an assembly of people in a small valley of dirt sitting on rows of narrow, weathered pews. Everyone in this small beach-side community must be attending this meeting. A man dressed in a priest’s garb is standing at an altar at the head of the valley addressing the gathering of people. I am still too far to hear their voices over the crashing of the waves along the coast and so I descend the hill to investigate further.

As I approach the group, the wind begins to pick up and turn vicious, further drowning out the voice of the priest who is now shouting animatedly. No one in the crowd notices my approach because I am at their backs, and the priest is too enraptured by his own sermon. At this distance, with the ocean crashing and the wind running at full force, I could only catch the sound of the priest’s voice but naught of what he was saying. It seems that the more enthusiastic the priest becomes with the waving of his hands, the stronger the wind grew. He appeared to be conducting the gusty winds and it was now taking everything I had to remain perpendicular to the ground.

Having reached the nearest pew, I could finally hear the tortured, screaming voices of the crowd being thrown back into their faces by the wind. Men, women and children, all are caught by some immobilizing fear. They are cowering together on the benches for protection as if awaiting a slaughter. The priest is unaware of the effect that he is generating on the group and continues to shriek at the top of his lungs. He is now gesturing wildly toward the sky, directing our collective attention to the swollen clouds above us. Streaks of lightning pierce the air, illuminating a tornado being born from the heavens.

I am caught in an updraft, lifted and launched above the crowd at a frightening speed. Bolts of lightning become seared into my vision until all I can see is an ever-present white light. The last sounds I hear above the howling vortex are the shrill cries of the crowd as I am hurled forever upward.