Blink of an eye for an eye

From whence the storm has come, it has beaten a path in it's wake. The hurricane tears trees from ground like hair from flesh. Destroying infrastructure that was once thought to be secure and unbreakable.

No. This is a wasteland, what was once a paradise.

The storm has ruined this place. And one has to wonder if we are not to blame. Our existence has an effect on the smallest scale. The blink of an eye affects weather patterns significantly enough to generate rain in distant lands. Our domain and actions become our downfall. As all that we choose to love creates the storm. The storm has no choice, it is made to wreck and tear until it is eradicated by a mightier storm or until it has run it's course.

We choose, we desire, we hope. And it creates this abomination that tears all of these gifts asunder. Leaving no remnants. Leaving no trace. Leaving nothing but scorched earth.

This is to be expected as it is our own faults for existing. But there is also a certain sympathy for those that throw themselves in the way of the storm. Some choose, albeit unintentionally, to leap into the path of the storm.

These fools are torn down by the storm. The storm. The storm. the storm. And all the rest of us can do is stand and gawk and pray that there is some sun that comes in the aftermath to lift them up again.

The storm. The storm. The Storm.