Storm Spirit

The wild wind whips me into the frenzy as time explodes into a fragment of dashing rain drops and a splitting breeze. I am wholely taken into the power and spirit of the storm, released and free, no lingering matter to hold me down.

The sky is alive, the rain is fierce, and the city lies cowering beneath me, the red rocks slick with draining water and the sooty streets being cleansed of their desultory crimes.

I climb higher, urging the buffets to match my pace. I meet the clouds with a flurry and feel the density of the air, the quickening of the vibrations, the charging of the atoms.

My sight swings wildly and the prison is there below me. I set my eyes to the accursed courtyard where the gallows stand, sinister and scarred with sins.

The world tenses, the pulse quickens, and the energy splits the air. Lightning crackles, the world blinks, and the gallows are struck. Pain rises in my heart, threatening to overflow, and from below, passion bursts to the surface. Lightning strikes again, the wood is aflame. Another bolt hits hard, and a crack shatters down the skeleton of wood to the peaceful earth. And then another. The flames hiss at the rain, the air scorched, the grasses singed, and the structure torn.

One more clash and the air remains exhausted and still, sagging, limp, and empty. I fall.

I fall through stretches of slick air, enveloped in gravity, chained to the ground, through moments that span a century in half a second.

And I a single drop of water.

The End

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