I stared in dismay at the red “47%” inked into the top of my Crystal Structures midterm. Around me, I could hear the excited chatter of my fellow classmates, who together had averaged 94% on what was apparently one of our school’s easier exams.

Easy to everyone except me, that is.

And the worst part was that I couldn’t really disagree with them. It was an easy exam. Or at least, it should have been. The instructor had already reviewed the questions during the second half of the class, and I could clearly see all the mistakes and misinterpretations that I had made. Ultimately, though, this was just the latest in a string of disappointments since entering college.

I had started out confident, managing to secure a full-tuition scholarship before aging out of the orphanage. I found a cheap apartment that, while old, was still relatively clean and still within a 40-minute bike ride to campus. And there were plenty of markets, restaurants, and residences in between so I could work as a delivery boy to-and-from school, earning me enough money to pay for rent.

What my advance planning couldn’t account for was the fact that, surprise surprise, you needed time to study to succeed in a STEM major. Time or talent, and I had neither. I knew that, on some level, I was just making excuses. There were other students in similar situations to me and were doing just fine. But despite my enthusiasm for materials science, the sad truth was that I simply didn’t understand it in the slightest.

“Hey Micah,” a familiar voice broke me out of my reverie. I turned to my classmate. Friend? We never really spent any leisurely time together, seeing as I had to work for food and shelter, but whenever I had time to struggle through my homework or cram for an exam he would offer to help. “How’d it go? Ace it like we planned?”

I gave a wry smile. “Not exactly.” I turned my exam to face him, inviting him to take a look if he hadn’t already. Knowing Hans, he had probably been purposely averting his eyes from my score out of courtesy.

Hans’ eyes moved to the sheet on my desk, growing large at the sight of the small score. “Oh, I’m sorry man.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I shrugged, trying to make it seem like I was cool with it. That it wasn’t like getting even a B was now mathematically impossible. That it wasn’t as though I would lose my scholarship if my GPA dropped below 2.5. That it wasn’t a fact that after the first semester I was at a 1.8, and needed three B’s and two C’s to make the cut. That it wouldn’t already be a miracle if I even passed my other four classes. “I’ll just have to keep studying and do better next time, is all.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hans smiled, offering a fist bump. I accepted, and moved to put the symbol of my failure into my bag. “Want to head to the library, start that studying a bit early?”

I could practically hear the unspoken “this time,” but there was no judgment in the offer. I hadn’t spoken much of my circumstances, but it was pretty obvious that my budget was tight. “Work” was the more common reason given for missing these sessions, and today would be no different. “Sorry, I’ve got to do some deliveries today.”

“Alright, next time then,” Hans replied amicably. “Good luck with your work, and stay safe now. It’s been right windy today.”

“Will do,” I waved as he walked to the classroom door where a couple of his friends awaited him. They left together, and the only ones remaining were myself and the professor, who was packing his 2-in-1 computer into his shoulder bag. It would sure be nice to have a computer like that, or even a simple tablet like half of the class seems to have. My little paper notebook, which cost less than the school’s vending machine options, seemed almost antiquated at this engineering college.

Swinging my pack over my shoulders, I prepared to leave when a baritone voice spoke, “Mr. Cedano.”

I looked over at Professor Reyes, somewhat surprised he was talking to me. That he even knew my name in this class of 50. “Yes, Professor?”

“You did not perform very well on this exam, did you.” It was less of a question and more of a statement of fact. One spoken without emotion, purely dispassionately.

“No, sir,” I replied. It seemed awkward to say so little, so I added, “I thought I had studied well, but I made a lot of silly mistakes.” Immediate regret. I didn’t need to say anything else at all.

“Hm,” Professor Reyes acknowledged he heard me. “The withdrawal deadline is this Friday. I recommend to any student who receives less than 60% on an exam to drop the course and re-enroll the following semester.”

I was already aware of the deadline as well as the fact that it would not help much. I needed classes to raise my GPA, and my remaining ones weren’t looking much better. Still, there was a chance, at least. And I appreciated that he was looking out for me. “Thank you, Professor. I will take your advice and try again this Fall.”

Professor Reyes nodded, apparently satisfied with my response. “Feel free to audit this course and continue attending. Seeing the material twice will be a great aid.” He picked up his belonging from the podium and left the room.

Sighing, I turned to the window outdoors. The weather seemed to be as dark and gloomy as I felt, though fortunately there was no rain as yet. According to my smart phone - an older, used model I bought before leaving the orphanage - it wasn’t supposed to rain until tonight. With luck, my customers would tip well and I would make enough to pay the rest of this week’s rent. Then I could keep chipping away at the semester’s Student Fees, which sadly were not covered by the Tuition Scholarship I was struggling to keep.

The walk to my bicycle was largely free of people, much to my relief. This was one of the benefits of a cloudy day: all the loud college students would hurry to their destinations instead of meandering across campus, standing right in middle of the school’s bike lanes, which ran adjacent to the pedestrian walkways.

I arrived at the campus bike garage, scanned my student ID card to the door, and walked inside. Not too many people took advantage of this building, preferring to lock up right outside their classroom buildings. Me? I couldn’t take the chance. Couldn’t afford to replace either the bike or one of its wheels or the chair or whatever thieves take these days. Not that the bike cost me much to begin with - the university held a bike auction when I first moved here and I managed to get a nice model with a cargo rack basically for free. Paid as much for it as the helmets they were selling, a nice bargain for poor college students like us.

It didn’t take long to make my way over to the familiar grey bicycle. A nice, boring color that would theoretically make it unattractive to thieves, especially when next to a bright white or radiant red bike like I usually tried to lock up next to. Oddly, though, there was a slip of paper tied to my handlebars with a length of string. It seemed to be a brochure of some sort.

I pulled it off and read it closer. Dissatisfied with your life? Begin anew with the Church of Radiance! Simply press your thumb (slightly bloodied) into the circle below and your life will be transformed! (Edges of this paper kept sharp for this purpose).

What in the world was this? Some idea of a prank? I wasn’t exactly devout, but plenty of church officials had visited our orphanage to promote their religions and recruit from the impressionable youth (us). So I was rather familiar with most of the larger religious organizations and had never heard of any Church of Radiance. Also, asking the reader to give themselves a paper cut and mark the page with blood just screamed of some sort of shady cult.

The bloodthirsty circle in question, seemingly simple at first sight, was actually quite complex now that I took a closer look at it. Measuring a couple centimeters in diameter, the inside was clear while the circumference of the circle was about a millimeter in width, filled with a pattern in black ink. I recognized it from my mathematics course - it was a fractal, a never-ending sequence of geometrical shapes following a predetermined rule that, once known, would allow someone to create an infinitely complicated yet repeating pattern. It was a beautiful piece of artwork, but also a disquieting one.

I shook my head and looked around at the other bikes. None of the others had anything similar. I considered reporting the strange paper to a campus official, but decided against it. This was just some prank by one of the fraternities at my expense, maybe one of my classmates who saw my exam scores and decided to poke a bit of “fun.” All things considered, it fit. In the end, fraternities were all basically just cults anyway.

With a quick motion, I crumpled the sheet of paper, pausing for a moment at its unexpected thickness unlike the printer paper I thought it was, and tossed it into the garbage bin across the room. It was a bit of a long shot, but years of nothing better to do as a child gave me great aim when it came to hand-thrown projectiles. Not as good as some of my older “siblings” though.

That distraction done with, I unlocked my bike and checked my phone for any local deliveries. There were several requests for pizza, groceries, and a variety of fast food joints. There were a few restaurants too, but I would leave those for people with cars. I tried delivering Chinese food in cold weather like this before, but it got cold by the time I arrived. The customer was not pleased and revoked the promised tip, which doubly hurt since I’d braved the rain to make it.

So yeah, no restaurants. Fast food was still okay though. It was practically expected for cheap food to arrive cold, and most drivers would make do multiple pickups and deliver them in sequence. Even with my bike, the abundance of fast food options meant I could find some options that were really close to their destination. And on days like today, some people were even ordering delivery from places five minutes away. Perfect.

I sent a mental Thank You to my first customer of the day as I claimed the order, memorized its location, and returned my phone to my pocket. Two gloves and one helmet later I was ready to go. I rolled the bike out of the bike garage and into the buffeting winds, which had definitely picked up in the last five minutes.

Keeping Hans’ warning in mind, I mounted the bike and carefully rode toward my first destination. It was only four blocks down the street that ran along the west side of campus. I pedaled over to the street, leaning into the wind when particularly strong gusts blew across me laterally, and entered the bike lane as fast as I could safely manage. The less time I took, the greater the chance the customer would maintain the tip. And since I could only do small deliveries, I needed every one.

I approached the main intersection just beyond the campus boundary and, seeing the green light, continued onward. But a third of the way through, a motion to my left immediately drew my attention, and I couldn’t help but gasp. A large truck was barreling at full speed toward me, ignoring the very clear red light directly above it. I didn’t have time to head back. I couldn’t turn, couldn’t dive, couldn’t jump.

So I pedaled. Hard. This was a simple relative velocity problem from Physics, and one of the few I remembered getting right on that Final. If I could accelerate enough, add onto my already high speed, I could clear the road before the truck cleared me. Time appeared to slow down. I focused my attention forward, pushing past the burning in my legs. I would not die here. Not to this. I refused.

The looming mass drew ever closer in my peripheral vision, but I paid it little mind, if only out of spite. I was a busy man, and I had things to do. Like pick up a double cheeseburger, fries, and a soda and deliver them half a mile to their hungry recipient.

With that humorous thought in mind, a sudden burst of speed propelled me forward as a perfectly timed tailwind blew into me, giving me just enough speed for my body to avoid the oncoming truck.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for my bike. I felt more than heard the collision as the truck clipped the aft wheel, the sudden change in perspective disorienting me as the cement pavement suddenly went from being the ground below me to being the wall to my right. A wall I crashed into with my face.

A tangy scent reached my nose, one that I distinctly recognized as my own blood. This was not good. If I was too injured to work, I couldn’t make the money I needed for rent. And I wouldn’t be able to afford any medical treatment if necessary. I tried to get up, to walk off the pain that I knew would come when the shock wore off, but I couldn’t move my leg. I looked down, or up rather, to find my right leg pinned to the street by my mangled bike. The truck had stopped a few meters away, and cars had stopped to see what happened. Someone was asking if I was alright, another was calling for an ambulance.

I tried to tell them off, to have them just help me up, but none could hear me. I couldn’t shout over the wind. That blasted wind that was now a bloody gale. Trees were bent at extreme angles, and the street signs were squealing overhead. Something wasn’t right. This seemed much worse than your standard storm, and there wasn’t even any rain. Monsoon season was still a few months out too. It should have been a beautiful Spring day.

An instinct took over me, and I hesitantly craned my neck and set my gaze skyward. The clouds were moving quickly. Very quickly. But, to my great dismay, the clouds were not moving anywhere in particular. They were just moving in place. Or rather, spinning in place.

The others around me gradually caught on to the swirling storm spiraling above and began to shout and yell as they left in a hurry. Cars hurriedly tried to flee in other directions, but the traffic jam resulting from the crash made it hard to leave. Many then abandoned their vehicles and tried to run. Some took shelter in nearby buildings. The ones around me who had tried to help also fled, leaving me and my pinned leg underneath my bicycle directly underneath the storm.

I bent my body, still lying on the cold pavement, and tried to shove the bike away and free my leg. Then I could try to crawl away, or at least grab a lamp post or something nearby. But I was having no luck. The cargo bike was a bit heavier than other bikes, and I was at an awkward angle. I tried to drag myself forward anyway, but my whole right side was now in pain. My leg, my hip, my arm, and my head.

Still, I couldn’t give up. Giving up would mean death, and I would never consider death an actionable alternative. I knew people, had friends who had thought that way. But I could not. Would not. And so, I pulled. I pulled on my leg, pulled my body forward, and pushed past the pain. There was no help, no aid. The others once nearby were already gone. The wind now roared, completely drowning out any other sounds. I could hardly hear even my own groans and yells and I exerted every effort to free myself.

After what felt like minutes had passed, I suddenly felt the weight on my leg lessen. Yes! I dragged myself forward, the adrenaline giving my body a second wind, as it were. Then I felt my own body lift up off the ground. Did somebody come back to help me?

I looked around to thank the brave individual who had returned for me, only to see my bike floating in mid air just in front of me a split second before it flew upward. At that moment, I realized the cold truth. It was too late. The tornado had successfully formed.

There was nothing I could do. I frantically searched for anything to grab onto, but nothing was within reach. My body was pulled into the sky, and I winced as dirt and debris battered my broken body. I wondered if I would be pulled out through the top of the funnel. If that was a thing that could happen. I wondered if I would black out through lack of air before I died. I wondered if I would die in the storm or after it, upon reunification with the Earth.

And then a familiar object filled my vision directly ahead of me. That which had started this whole affair. The singular thing that had forever altered the course of my life into its abrupt termination. And as it rapidly approach on a direct collision course, I ultimately decided that it was a rather fitting bit of poetry for that blasted truck to be the last thing I saw.