The family sat on the porch in silence, watching the world fall apart. Lightning raked scars across the air. Hail fell then, in ivory bits that reminded Katie of knucklebones. It seemed that the sky was sloughing off its skin to reveal its skeleton. A wail rose up around them and Jim leaped to his feet, his lips pulled back from his teeth. He pointed, though there was no need. They all saw it.
The funnel emerged from the bank of clouds like the proboscis of some terrible insect. Katie pressed herself against the wall, fearing they would be sucked up the long snout to be devoured by this black dread. Jim grabbed her and pushed her into the kitchen.
"The Pawpaw Tree." Short Story. 2006 Explorations, MECC, Second Place.
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