12-sentence story

Dear old dad was out in the rain, his coat soaked from with rain water, his face freezing from the wind, his eyes straining to see through the dark, his hands burning from the cut as he burst through the door. My dad is the hero of my life; the thunder and lighting was the violent scream of the night. The tree, the victim of the light, can withstand great winds and forces, but this night the lighting strike brought it down. I saw my dad run through the living room, then across the kitchen, into the bedroom, out the door, then he disappeared. I looked and looked, but my dad was gone. Of course. I prayed that he would live, and that he would make it safe, and that the lighting would leave him alone. I thought he was dead, but I could just feel he wasn't. In my heart, I could feel his love. Though was he really alive? Of course he was, he's the hero, nothing could stop him, not fire, not ice, nor lightening. The boldness of his walk was surprising and encouraging at the same time, his speed and strength was boastful yet subtle, and his epic walk towards the house made this day the most memorable of my life, especially the lighting and thunder thumping in the background.