The rain poured down on the hood of the car. He sighed deeply as he flicked on the windshield wipers and his fog lights. He slammed the sun roof shut as he twisted the black dials on the air conditioner clockwise. This was his daily routine for the middle of April.

“Guess I'm gonna be late for work, again,” he said to himself. Jacob worked at the local meat market for 6 months and had mixed feelings about his job. Since he had started there he had tirelessly hacked away at slabs of veal for what seemed like eternity. He looked down at his depressingly white blood-stained apron he wore for work everyday. He contemplated weather he should go to work or not. The weather unambiguously urged him to take the day off.

“Living in Gastonia, North Carolina, you have to be on the lookout for-” he began, to himself, but was cut short. He lifted his right hand off of the steering wheel to turn down the radio. He was listening to a captivating NPR broadcast regarding mystifying musical compositions by some unnamed group. He returned his hand to the wheel and refocused his attention to the road ahead. He heard the same loud crackling in the distance. The familiar sound of crunching wood and grinding metal. He leaned his head closer to the steering wheel and looked around to get a better sense of his surroundings. His fears were confirmed. He watched in horror as what used to be a majestic free standing water tower shred to bits and pieces. The polished metallic sheets whirled in gargantuan circles. The sheets revolved around a cyclone of charcoal-gray winds.

The tornado gave way to chase. The twister turned its course in his direction. He slammed on the brakes, trying to keep control of the car. He grabbed hold of the gear-shifter, and struggled to put the car in reverse. Sometimes it would work when he was fortunate. Today just wasn't his day. He yanked at the bar in hopes of it shifting, but it wouldn't budge. He looked up to see the dark swirling vortex that made its way down the narrow highway in his path. He thought to himself about the little time that he had left before the end. Just as he nearly gave up hope, the bar jolted next to the reverse symbol. His body raced with delight and adrenaline. He floored the gas pedal and heard the sound of the revving engine and screeching car tires. He twisted his torso clockwise and reached his right arm out to grasp the backrest of the passenger seat. He looked through the rear window to see the clear open road ahead.

“It looked like things are actually going my way,” he thought to himself. He turned his head forward expecting to see the distance between him and the tornado to be increasing. To his amazement, he watched the cyclone slice a tree into bits and direct chunks and slivers of shrapnel in his direction. The shards of the tree penetrated the windshield like butter, impaling his throat to the backrest of the leather seat. His face was frozen in decease forever.