There, in the distance, the skies were clouding over. The stillness before a roll of thunder, as the world holds her breath, waiting, watching.
I walked into the sunlight, unwilling to acknowledge the darkness I could foresee.
The sky turned to soup, a thick murky swirl of grey and black. The storm doesn't like to be ignored. It boiled, slowly chasing away the sun.
I turned my back on the gathering storm, I threw down my coat and I whistled as I walked across the grass that died at my feet.
He screamed. The skies opened. The cold rain poured over me and burned through my skin, the ground shook and the earth wailed. The storm was here.
And I kept walking. I turned my eyes away from the carnage, the violence and laughed as blood seeped out through my charred skin, leaving a trail of red behind me.
The storm would kill me. The storm has killed me. I didn't even know.
It was you. With your lips. Your fingers. The things that you whispered to me. I heard them all as the rain dissolved me into nothing. Into a patch of bloodstained dead grass.
It was you, the storm said.
It was you.
4 comments:
Thankgod the template is gone.
Its always a pleasure to visit you.
Dear Anonymous,
My apologies for the template. It was ghastly wasn't it? I find that when I am struck with writer's block I mess with the template. I will try and stop.
Thank you for visiting!
Ghastly indeed. It seemed like an effort so I preffered to stay quiet.I could pay to have conversation with you, but that would ruin it.No, Iam not a man.
Err.
Congratulations! I know many men who can't say that.
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