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Lightning flashes…
His family was dead, and in a short while he would be as well. The discontent from the city he had visited only once had spread across the countryside. The farmers and their families who had nothing to do with the far off politics that gave rise to this situation were being systematically whipped out by the banditry and vandalism of those who had already rioted and been repelled from the city.
Thunder booms…
They had nailed him to a tree, a long spike through each shoulder, so he could watch them destroy his life before he died. Four of them, he could vividly picture each face, and each time he did he was filled with hate and grief. He did not want vengeance, for vengeance was merely getting even, justifiable punishment for wicked deeds.
Lightning flashes…
The rain pelts his face as he falls in and out of consciousness. The wind sways the tree bringing new waves of pain into his shoulders. The rain slowly forms into sleet and he shivers, his body begins going numb, his mind going black…
Thunder booms…
Was that a voice? His head rolls on his neck with the swaying of the tree. He can no longer keep his head up but at least the pain was going away. It was almost like someone was asking him to sacrifice to the storm. Sacrifice to the raging fury, so it can go on sparing only those who sacrifice…Sacrifice. His mouth curls into an ugly smile. Yes, sacrifice, fury, storm.
A blinding flash of light, the smell of burning flesh, his own flesh, he lies freezing in the sleet covered mud his vision is blurred. His hand curls around something, a stick. Sacrifice, fury, storm!
The thunderclap is so loud it awakens the sleeping vandals in his house. They look about and begin to doze off again. They snap awake as the door is smashed in and a flash of lightning perfectly frames the monster in the doorway, for it can only be a monster!
His eyes are flashing lightning and his cries are like thunder, his fist is like a hailstone and the stick a bolt of fire. His wrath is the storm and the fury must be fueled with sacrifice.
Thunder booms from a distance as the storm moves away
The next day there is nothing left of the house or the farmer. The vandals’ bones stick out stark against the pile of ashes. Why he was chosen and what purpose the destruction served, he did not ask. All he knew was one being was willing to give him the chance and lend him the power, oh what power, to smash his enemies. That god was the storm and the storm now owned him, body and soul.
His family was dead, and in a short while he would be as well. The discontent from the city he had visited only once had spread across the countryside. The farmers and their families who had nothing to do with the far off politics that gave rise to this situation were being systematically whipped out by the banditry and vandalism of those who had already rioted and been repelled from the city.
Thunder booms…
They had nailed him to a tree, a long spike through each shoulder, so he could watch them destroy his life before he died. Four of them, he could vividly picture each face, and each time he did he was filled with hate and grief. He did not want vengeance, for vengeance was merely getting even, justifiable punishment for wicked deeds.
Lightning flashes…
The rain pelts his face as he falls in and out of consciousness. The wind sways the tree bringing new waves of pain into his shoulders. The rain slowly forms into sleet and he shivers, his body begins going numb, his mind going black…
Thunder booms…
Was that a voice? His head rolls on his neck with the swaying of the tree. He can no longer keep his head up but at least the pain was going away. It was almost like someone was asking him to sacrifice to the storm. Sacrifice to the raging fury, so it can go on sparing only those who sacrifice…Sacrifice. His mouth curls into an ugly smile. Yes, sacrifice, fury, storm.
A blinding flash of light, the smell of burning flesh, his own flesh, he lies freezing in the sleet covered mud his vision is blurred. His hand curls around something, a stick. Sacrifice, fury, storm!
The thunderclap is so loud it awakens the sleeping vandals in his house. They look about and begin to doze off again. They snap awake as the door is smashed in and a flash of lightning perfectly frames the monster in the doorway, for it can only be a monster!
His eyes are flashing lightning and his cries are like thunder, his fist is like a hailstone and the stick a bolt of fire. His wrath is the storm and the fury must be fueled with sacrifice.
Thunder booms from a distance as the storm moves away
The next day there is nothing left of the house or the farmer. The vandals’ bones stick out stark against the pile of ashes. Why he was chosen and what purpose the destruction served, he did not ask. All he knew was one being was willing to give him the chance and lend him the power, oh what power, to smash his enemies. That god was the storm and the storm now owned him, body and soul.