08-22-2009, 03:08 AM
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It was cold. That was all there was to be said. But it wasn't cold because of the actual temperature; no, it had been a relatively warm day. Rather, it was cold because he had been out in the rain. He was soaked, through and through; even now, he was only out of the downpour because he had found himself a small shack — if you could call it that. One of its walls had collapsed completely, all the windows shattered, the wood rotting and the brick wearing. However, it had been a study fortress in its time, no doubt, and what was left of it still managed to stand on its worn foundation. So the male had decided to use the shelter when lightning began to light the sky, not because he was worried about getting wet or being outside during a storm — no, he hardly cared about that — but because he wanted to be able to sit and watch.
What was there to watch, exactly? Oh, plenty. Despite the weather having been similar to this all week thus far, he nonetheless enjoyed watching the electricity as the shot through the sky, loved it when the thunder got to be so loud it practically shook the ground. It was nature at its finest, its most powerful, its most potential. Its most potentially destructive. For, as the lightning shot from the ground, it could destroy whatever it touched, were it inclined to do so. It could send the forest ablaze, destroy the brittle remnants of buildings and cities and humanity. The rain could flood, drown, and be just as destructive as the concentrated energy, just over periods of time and in bulk. Thunderstorms were beautiful in their power, in their hate for everything. For, nothing was safe from them — nothing was loved enough to be so. No matter who or what you were, you could be destroyed in a flash of lightning or flood, while the thunder roared its hate at the world. It was that simple, that twisted and darkly beautiful.
And that was why Merit liked storms.
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It was cold. That was all there was to be said. But it wasn't cold because of the actual temperature; no, it had been a relatively warm day. Rather, it was cold because he had been out in the rain. He was soaked, through and through; even now, he was only out of the downpour because he had found himself a small shack — if you could call it that. One of its walls had collapsed completely, all the windows shattered, the wood rotting and the brick wearing. However, it had been a study fortress in its time, no doubt, and what was left of it still managed to stand on its worn foundation. So the male had decided to use the shelter when lightning began to light the sky, not because he was worried about getting wet or being outside during a storm — no, he hardly cared about that — but because he wanted to be able to sit and watch.
What was there to watch, exactly? Oh, plenty. Despite the weather having been similar to this all week thus far, he nonetheless enjoyed watching the electricity as the shot through the sky, loved it when the thunder got to be so loud it practically shook the ground. It was nature at its finest, its most powerful, its most potential. Its most potentially destructive. For, as the lightning shot from the ground, it could destroy whatever it touched, were it inclined to do so. It could send the forest ablaze, destroy the brittle remnants of buildings and cities and humanity. The rain could flood, drown, and be just as destructive as the concentrated energy, just over periods of time and in bulk. Thunderstorms were beautiful in their power, in their hate for everything. For, nothing was safe from them — nothing was loved enough to be so. No matter who or what you were, you could be destroyed in a flash of lightning or flood, while the thunder roared its hate at the world. It was that simple, that twisted and darkly beautiful.
And that was why Merit liked storms.