A hurricane that could use its eye to see? 
   
    Are you kidding? Of course it could see!

What else would a killer hurricane use its eye for?
   
    How else would it know where it was going? What building to destroy?

   What beach to pummel? What car to pulverise?
   
    He was looking this way and that.

He was scouting out the territory. Taking in the lay of the land.
   
     Of course he needed an eye. He had a lot of seeing to do.

He was seeing if there were any lovely picturesque spots in Florida that he could rip apart – and turn into hideous, storm-wracked spots.
   
    Seeing if there were any nice little towns full of people that he could turn into nice little towns that had no people – live ones, that is.

    Seeing if these humans were still as dumb as they’d always been. Seeing if they’d reconstructed their flimsy little houses.  Or whether they’d finally seen sense and put up some sturdy defences.
   
Not much chance of that. They never learned. They never changed.
   
    Which was all to the good.

It would make carrying out the plan so much easier.
   
    Under cover of the night, he edged towards the land.  Reached out to a wooden jetty that extended from a harbour wall into the sea. He touched its frail wooden legs gently.
   
If he wanted to, he could snap them like twigs without even thinking about it.

    A few hundred yards out into the bay, brightly coloured yachts danced with the wind. They looked strong enough but he could easily smash them to matchsticks in a single blow.

He peeked over the seawall. It was made of boulders and concrete. But this seemingly invincible structure too could be broken into little pieces without much effort.

    He liked the taste of dry land.  Brown and sweet and biscuity.

Hours later, as dawn came, he withdrew, emitting a soft moist sound. Like someone licking their lips.

    This is how a hurricane uses its eye.
   
    Now, do you see?