Wildy the Journeyman (into_the_wild) wrote,
Wildy the Journeyman

:: The Unravelling, Part I ::

And so he stood, on his hill, hands outstretched,
Against a backdrop of threatening dark clouds.
As if he was ready to embrace the penance of his deeds.
The distant thunder rumbled expectantly, in anticipation for what was to come.
He laughed and cried as he summoned the tempest;
A display of his omnipotence, yet ironically the mark of his downfall.
The winds howled and scattered the leaves into the air while the rain started to fall.
Like glass shards, the raindrops lacerated his entire body.
He grimaced as a red spot emerged from where he stood and encroached into the grassy green.
But he felt no pain; he felt only a tinge of sadness as the colour red seeped out of his body onto the hill. The storm abated, satisfied with its signature of devastation.
Almost devoid of life, he collapsed onto the rusty ground.
He knew he knew the key to the unravelling.
It was real in his imagination, an illusion in reality.


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