The sky was as black as night and as gray as a funeral, the winds were swarming around me, as if I was their prey. I was in the middle of the greatest storm to ever hit Colorado. I could not hear anything, but the screams of the cyclone, fear was inevitable. Everything soon turned black; my vision was nothing, but darkness. Every step I took was a step backwards, my strength was failing, but I know I had to push on. I was walking, but I did not move, I was screaming, but I was not heard. The storm kept getting bigger and bigger as if was a balloon being blown up. With the last bit of my strength I fought the tempest. I clawed, I punched, and I kicked my enemy, it was either him or me. But his strength was mightier than mine. I fell to the ground, hoping I would find relief, but there was none. I was crawling, but I did not move, I was dying but I did not die. My shouts for help were in vain, I thought this was the end. The gale was winning, my vision obscure, my hearing deafened, my voice silenced, my strength failing, and my spirit dejected. My last hope was God; I began to pray to Him for His almighty hand to rescue me from this torment. With my last strength I opened my eyes and there I saw a flicker of hope a café about a meter away. With the last bit of strength I began to crawl to my hope, but the storm was not pleased. It wanted to stop me at all costs, but I would not be vanquished. Finally, my hope was realized, shelter was mine. He rescued me.