Voices of Violence will Always be Heard

So it begins, the decent into darkness. The sky clouds over, the wind picks up. In the distance comes the marching of unseen troops. They come... closer...even closer...even closer now, every minute you hear their echoes, thundering through the thick air. The wind continues to gain strength. The thick air is pushed around you, sometimes pushed into you, soffocating before the show even starts. You wait, silently. The world is waiting, too, but it is loud enough to make up for all the quiet in you. Leaves beat eachother , trampling one another to get out of the wind's force. Water no longer ripples tranquilly, but pushes toward the shore, away from the thundering troups. Nature is greener for a time, without the white sun bleaching it- no, it evidences different colours, some you didn't realise were there, some you couldn't have seen without the darkness, the clouds. Every minute you wait the temperature drops... 30....27...24... until it feels like winter again. The sky doesn't burst forth right away. It lets go little samplings of the future... one drop.... two drops.... a smattering of drops catches your face. For a moment, nature falls into perfect silence with you. Then it comes down- the rain is steady at first, fat drops coming down one after another... until it seems like there are millions upon millions of little waterfalls coming from the sky, each unseen, only felt in the darkness. Then the lightning flashes. The colour is bleached back out of everything illuminated by this current stronger than anythign man-made. The flash ends. Then another. Every few seconds you feel and hear the troops march over you, and every few seconds snapshots of the scene are taken. Then the drops stop falling so fast. They become thick again. The snapshots stop, replaced by the dradual re-revealing of sunlight. The troops are past you now. Everything is back to normal, except now everything is a lot wetter, and a lot colder. You are happy.


I like thunderstorms a lot.