He clutched at the railing of the dilapidated pier. Sprays of surf broke upon the seawall, sending flecks of foam spinning across his vision. The overcast sky signaled a portent of doom and storm clouds made their slow trek towards the mainland, as if guided by an unseen force. He rasped a dry laugh as the image of a pregnant cow flashed in his mind’s eye.
The storm, he admitted, was an unforeseen development. How wonderful nature was, to create such wonders in the lull between heartbeats. Hovering at the edge of the approaching storm, was a consciousness that promised raw, uncontrolled power.
The violent waves and scything winds...
Hurt. Pain. Blood. The fight. The feelings came too sudden. Too fast.
He shook his head clear. Obviously the storm was bringing back feelings he definitely wanted to suppress. Yet he yearned for it.
The wind was picking up, alone and unsheltered, he was easy prey on the wind-swept headland. He looked up at the angry sky, breathing in the salty air. The clouds, brimming with the life-giving source, had convened just a few hundred yards out from the headland. Time for milking, he murmured and again, laughed. The fall of torrential rain made its slow march towards the mainland as he watched in utter fascination. He felt the raw power of nature; the static electricity in the air, heard the pounding of the countless droplets of water, as they pounded their brethren below.
...Just like the fight. Just like, the Kill.
Did I really take a life? He asked, in a rhetorical tone and ironically, responded, Yes, yes I did.
Violence, was it the core of every human being, the central factor of human nature that guided our every action?
What is this melodrama, he thought. Foolishness.
Like a charging ram, the Heliopolis struck.
The slicing wind slammed down, buffeting him against the railing whilst the rain assailed him. He hunkered down, knuckles white from gripping the rails. The splintered wood dug into his palm.
Hurt. Pain. Blood.
I was just so angry then. I felt...I felt as if I could do anything, I was, Invincible. Even then, his chest heaved in anticipation of the adrenaline rush. The loud roaring of blood in his ears drowned out even the cacophony of the storm. It felt so, so good.
I grabbed whatever was lying around and started bashing him with it. The solid whack against bone was so satisfying. So, I kept doing it. And I didn't stop. Not when the bottle I was using broke. Not when my hands were bloody. Not when I was crying from exhaustion.
Not till he was dead.
Sinking to his knees, he whispered into the wind, I didn't wanna kill him. Just hurt him, that ‘all.
The clouds tore apart to release yet more downpour as the main body of the storm approached. That terrible, uncontrollable power.
The product was a surge in wave crests, as they started breaking over the seawall. Yet, he was lost in his mind’s eye, genuflecting. His silhouette was barely visible in the driving rain. The pier groaned as its supports started to deteriorate under the crashing waves.
It gave a massive shudder, as it was enveloped by a soaring swell. When the swash abated, the silhouette was no longer there.
Nature. A terrible force to behold.
Raw, driving, cruel, uncaring.
