I stand here in the middle of nowhere, center of everywhere. I stand here alone, with nothing but the embrace of grass to my knees and mountains as far as I can see. There's not a tree, not a person, not a Construct or a Creation anywhere in sight. There is only me, embraced by the comfort of grass up to my knees.

The clouds are high and block the Sun, yet I can see for miles. The clouds are thin and block the sky, yet I see not a disturbance in sight. All is calm. All is warm. All is sweet, safe, and well. The wind, gentle on my skin, brings naught but the warmth and the embrace therein.

A gust of frost hits from the north. With the paralyzing cold follows a gust of warmth. The frost hits again, followed once more by the embrace of the heat. As I look to the sky, I see the clouds moving east. They thicken as they travel, darkening the sky. Again a blast of frost passes me by. The warmth does not return. The embrace does not follow. The protection of the wind seems all but gone by now.

Just a moment ago I embraced the world as it embraced me in return. Now its motives I cannot discern. The grass blankets the turf in a thick sheet of green. I dare not move. I dare not step away. This green turf presents not an anchor for my feet. The clouds continue to the east as the gale howls from the north. To the west I see nothing. To the south I see naught. The clouds thicken, the wind quickens, and with them I now see what this world has wrought.

The darkened sky brings one hell of a surprise. The fog obstructs my view, yet I see an overwhelming darkness from the north. Although the clouds block the sun and turn day to night, only this darkness begets my fright.

The frost from the north strengthens a gale from the west. The wind is turning. Its origin is moving. The wind intensifies as it sweeps away the fog, revealing the darkness consuming the north. The darkness is a cyclone, chewing away the mountain. Rock by rock, piece by piece, the cyclone eats away the mountain as it rotates to the east.

The darkness is the dirt as it's shredded by the frosty torment. The screaming gale uproots the grass in the distance, turning the cyclone into a destructive shade of brown, accented by faint streaks of green.

The mountain to the north has been leveled. The wind continues to consume the turf below. The beast driving this wind consumes the entire northern view--it must be several cities wide. The gale from the west only intensifies, forcing unto me the scariest of truths: this storm is moving south. The storm is quickly moving south.

The mountains to the northeast and northwest begin to disintegrate. Five or six large chunks at a time, the mountains are torn apart by this incredible beast. The frosty gale from the west challenges my footing, as the winds become difficult to withstand. Even laying flat, hiding beneath the blanket of grass, the wind insists on throwing me--and all land around me--to the sky.

I hold on to what I can. I dig in and anchor down. The turf is soft, allowing me to carve a trough. Now, as I lay flush with the land around me, the wind intensifies yet again. The sound is deafening. The force is binding. The fear is paralyzing. I sneak one last view to the north and am faced with a dreadful sight: a truly incomprehensible hurricane, several miles wide.

I accept my fate as I continue to hide; there's no possible way I can survive. With this in mind I begin to wonder, this insane beast, how should I classify? The winds are intense and more than anything I've known. The frost is biting with paralyzing cold. The winds above me attain a pressure greater than anything I've seen. A typical F-5 hurricane, this could not be.

I feel a beat in my lungs, not of my heart. I feel a beat against my back. I feel a beat through the soil. I feel a beat through everything. The winds--the winds are bending the laws of physics. The winds become waves. The gusts become shocks. From a constant howl erupts a constant deafening boom--a sonic boom.

The beats are coming from the north. The beats are coming from the beast itself. The winds near me may be an F-6, but the cyclone itself? I'm feeling the explosive power the size of a moon, rotating faster than the speed of sound. There's no way this can be real. There's no way I can be alive. There's no way I can still be here, laying in my trough, not having been torn to the sky.

I feel as if I'm afloat. I feel as if I'm weightless. I cling to the soil, but I feel as if gravity won't cling to me. I sneak one eye to my right and am faced with a truly dreadful sight: this cyclone has taken me, and everything around me, to the sky. It is at this moment I realize: this is my time to die.

My grip slowly releases as the ground beneath me falls to pieces. I'm afloat. I'm in the sky. I'm being taken for a ride, being forced to fly. Now I can see the cyclone. Now I can see the beast. This thing must be four miles tall, and ten miles wide.

With me fly pieces of dirt, grass, and turf. Nothing is larger than a pebble; to that effect the storm has made sure. The winds begin to warm as I fly through the air, attempting to enjoy my last moments free of despair. As the winds bring me closer to the storm I begin to see the Construct inside. Although I feel the explosions on my chest, my hearing has been fried. There's something driving this wind, other than when weather systems collide.

The Construct is a beast a mile in height. He is a beast of incredible size. A machine, a city, a Creation, causing demise. The thing rotates faster than sound can follow. The beats are the waves of its arms through the sky. Ironically, the destructive wind releases me, planting me on this Construct, conscious and alive.

Unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to hear, smell, or think, this beast opens apart and consumes me. The latches close with a quake, discerned only by my feeling of the shake. I can no longer feel the booms. I can no longer feel the wind. I can no longer feel the abrasive dirt sanding my skin. I open my eyes, and to my eternal surprise, this Construct was expecting me.

Without a thought, my first words were stupidly, "What's the speed?"

I feel the response through my bones, as my ears are no more. The response, as explosive and powerful as the wind outside, responds simply, "The wall? F-Twelve. Us? Mach Three."

My next response asserts my possession of intelligence: "why?"

"To find you. To destroy this planet. To leave this world."

As I lay there motionless, I notice my hearing begin to return. I notice my breathing begin to slow. I notice the pain begin to fade. I notice the fear begin to subside. I flop onto my back, look up, and see the clear dome window unto the sky.

I can hear. I can see. I can move and I can breathe. Slowly, cautiously, reluctantly, I take to my feet. This construct sure is moving, and I believe the estimate of Mach Three.

It is at this moment I collapse and black out, completely unconscious before my head hits my knee. It would take five years, but eventually I awoke from my sleep. I never learned who or what spoke to me. I never learned why that Construct destroyed my home. I never learned why it wanted me. I just slept, for five years, and woke up a new being.

This all ended four years ago, and I'm glad to be alive. I've taken my life into my command and set myself free. My life ended nine years ago, and began again five years later. Here I am today, telling my story, of that mysterious Construct's ferocity.