I came down the stairs after I heard the rumbling in the streets. Something shook my potted plant, the one my grandmother gave me before she died. It shook so hard, it fell to the ground.

Earthquakes don't happen in Chicago, and my third floor one-bedroom was luckily sturdy enough to withstand whatever caused all this motion.

The rumble happened again. This time more prominent feel. The earth began to split farther up the street. Cars rocked on their shocks.

I knew what this was, and I knew it was here for me. The shaking continued, the sky darkened. He was always one for the dramatics, but revealing himself like this, this open in public, meant a few things.

One, he was really mad at me. Two, something really terrible and important was about to happen.

The earth continued to rumble, and the ground continued to split until a fiery hand reach up onto the street.

The hard was massive, which meant he was really mad. Slowly, the fiery creature rose and positioned his feet to bridge the gap the had just formed.

I stood in the street, as I could see my neighbors looking out of the windows, wondering why this planed clothed white guy was doing staring at a 30-foot demon spawn.

"God damn it, dad!" I yelled.

Surprised, he looked down at me, "Where have you been! You were suppose to come to diner
an hour ago."

"Seriously? All of this," I pointed around at the mayhem he caused. "For that?"

"You mother is very upset!"

And so my life goes. Broken plants, burned cars and torched towns. My life was hell.