In the bustling city of Los Angeles, I was just a 15-year-old teenager enjoying a sunny day outdoors with my friends and my beloved puppy. It was a typical day filled with laughter and carefree moments, until a sudden turn of events thrust us into a terrifying ordeal that would forever remain etched in our memories.
As we roamed the streets, we stumbled upon a television display in an electronics store, the screens blaring with breaking news. My curiosity got the best of me, prompting me to approach and take a closer look, yet when I saw it was some boring old news about a tornado, I looked away. “Meh, I don’t wanna see that old people’s news.”
It was then that a strange sensation washed over me. A faint whisper, like the voice of a ghost, seemed to brush against my ear. It was an eerie and fragile voice, delivering an ominous warning: “Something bad is going to come.”
Startled and bewildered, I turned to my friends, sharing the eerie message I had heard. “Wait,” One of them said, “What was the breaking news again?”
A collective sense of dread swept over us as we gazed at the darkening sky. The once-idyllic day had transformed into a scene of impending catastrophe. We knew that we had no time to lose; we had to seek shelter immediately.
Without hesitation, we sprinted through the streets, frantically searching for any safe haven that could protect us from the approaching tornado. Desperation drove us to an abandoned building, where we hoped to find refuge from the impending storm.
Inside, we discovered a cache of canned food that we had carried with us earlier, providing us with a modicum of sustenance. As we huddled together, we tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the face of impending chaos.
But then a chilling realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. In the rush to find shelter, I left my puppy outside, vulnerable to the approaching tornado. Panic surged through me, and the guilt of abandoning my loyal companion was overwhelming.
I rushed back outside, fear gripping my heart, desperately scanning the turbulent surroundings for any sign of my precious pet. Amidst the chaos, my eyes landed on a family huddled around a makeshift fire, apparently cooking meat.
My heart sank, and I couldn’t hold back my tears, believing that my worst fears had come true. I approached the family, my voice quivering with grief as I asked the question that I dreaded the answer to: “Did you see a small puppy around here? I left it outside when the tornado warning came.”
The family were eating food on a table, to be specific, small ribs…just as big as a dog’s. The sight hit me like a sledgehammer. It felt as though my world had collapsed, and my worst fear had become a tragic reality. Overwhelmed by sorrow, I began to cry uncontrollably, mourning the loss of my dear companion.
But then, as if a miracle had occurred, I heard a familiar whimper. I turned around, disbelief washing over me, and there, miraculously unharmed, was my puppy. It had managed to find its way back to me, a testament to its resilience and the enduring bond between us.
Tears of joy replaced the earlier tears of grief as I scooped up my furry friend and held it close. “You’re safe, buddy,” I whispered, my heart filled with gratitude and relief. Then the tornado came, and I woke up, then all of my friends, the tornado, the family…all gone. “Oh my gods!” I shouted, “Thank god that was a dream, it was horrifying!”
Then I walked downstairs and opened the tv to start a new day. And it read: ‘Breaking News, Tornado about to hit Thailand, ChiangMai’.