The Storm

Never before had destruction looked so beautiful. The jewelled, midnight-blue sky was rapidly enveloped in a shroud of blackness. On the horizon, there was a storm brewing. With a feeling of wild ecstasy, I felt the winds being loosened.

The rising waters around me and the wild wind screamed as one. My tiny boat was a mere passing phenomena. It is said that two is company and three is crowd. My boat was the crowd.

I knew the sea around me was likely to be my watery death-bed; but in that moment of pure beauty and destruction, I did not care. I watched the infinite black sky; watched the fury of the white-hot lightning flickering across it- a quick miracle.

I felt the cold wind kiss my wet numb skin. The restless sea wrapped me in an embrace. And I stayed. Was death and destruction always so beautiful? The raging sea, the yawing sky- the invisible stars….It was useless to try and find land now. I was too far out at sea. If I went down with my boat and lay in the lap of the raging yet irresistible sea, would it really hurt?

And I stayed. Stayed-and they say I never left, after that day. Often, I hear them talking about the solitary man who was lost in the storm.

Lost? I laugh silently. You see, I never left!

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