The wind spun like thick yarn running through moms old sewing machine on the busiest day of the year. Tree branches began snapping at the trunk, leaving behind bare skin never seen before, for hundreds of years. Nature was fighting back against us, the rain slapping the pavement sounded like hyenas cackling and mocking us in the distance. Heavy droplets staining the concrete and pooling in the street, the drains couldn’t keep up. I don’t know what was worse, the busting of broken wind shields or the uncontrollable flooding that was filling our basement. Barbie dolls floating by filled the room with an eerie energy as the soiled water stained moms favourite vintage winged back chairs. Every inch of our since existence was being obliterated. As the hurricane tore through the neighbourhood, the billowing roof began to collect water and shingles began to peel off one by one. Water, the menacing painfully loud water, was winning.