"Is that bad?"
"You saying my foot is big?"
"No. No. I'm just saying." We all giggle.
Hillary walks into the room with Mathew.
"Hillary, look. There's a tornado coming." She's looking around frantically, checking the house. "Are the paintings okay?" She's pacing and starting to breathe heavily.
Now the house begins to shake, stronger and stronger. Soon the house is tumbling; it's picked up by the wind and it's floating across the landscape. I can't see out the window but I imagine the city skyscrapers and the country fields spreading out below us. "Don't lean on the wall!" I struggle to get people to balance out the movement of the storm.
I want to crash. I want to feel the end so that I can stop focusing on breathing and anticipating the impact. It doesn't come, but I fabricate the feeling, over and over again. It's a good feeling, like the gentle throbbing between my legs. When we crash, there is no visual, no sound, only a feeling. But I wake up before the climax.
