A fragile moment in the midst of winter rain. Cold, freezing drops of water striking the withered body of a man dead from inside. The clouds thundering bloody murder above him, his head hung low, his clothes drenched with his own sorrow and that provided by the elements.
His heart sinking wildly inside him. His darkest thoughts and feelings finding a way out of their cages. On their way to take over his nimble mind. Small, little nimble mind. A mind which was made of emotions. How hard would it be to crack that? Not too hard I reckon.
Things seem so hard for him to understand. So hard for him to contemplate. A snap from here and a snap from there. All eating at him. All gnawing at his soul. The thunder keeps striking hard and keeps striking fast. His head starts to fill with voices. Shrieks and screams, such that might have been speaking after a million years in captivity.
The earth, felt so cold to him. Everything did. It was a coincidence that the weather should choose to be cold as well. Truth be told, it wouldn’t have made even the slightest of difference. Everything would still feel very very cold to him. Because all warmth had been snatched out of him. It’s worse when you feel a chill down your spine, a chill which is brought about your emotions that is. So one could say that the weather was merely depicting what went on inside this man’s heart. A gloom.