Standing at the Storm

I have been here for hours, his mind noticed with a gentle realization, these winds twisting and cutting as the giant storm approached closer and closer, seeming to head right for him. He arrived here at this hill, at the water’s edge, to be alone once more, and yet, he had known something awaited him at this place.1

Standing alone under the hurricane, its winds ripping at his face, droplets of rain seeming to cut into him, he stare at the eye of the storm so far off and felt wistful, wondering why that peace passes over him and leaves so swiftly. Turning his face back up the clouds, he closes his eyes and asks softly, "why?"2

His hill erodes beneath his feet, the waters carrying away his foundation with each crashing wave. How can one stand-alone and not fall? He hears the words that cut into him again, turning his face from the sky, unable to hide on the barren wasteland that is his world, his heart worn and shredded like the earth surrounding him.3

Hearing the cries of anguish and pain, slicing through his barriers, he turns his body to block the awful sounds, but it moves across the plain that is empty from ripping away everything he hold dear, all his sanctuaries uprooted and thrown to the raging storm, its watery walls and winds of hatred breaking all shields. He felt a silver tear slip down his face, seeming to freeze as it traced where countless had before.4

Arms reach out towards a vision of his past savior, his love, and he feel the tears burn against his cheek, their salt seeming to intensify the wind’s edge against his face, and he rubs them away with his sleeve. Turning back to look over the sea, realizing his hill is almost gone and he smiles sadly. My world is almost gone, what does this mean, shall I slip away once more? Why not, the voice asks inside him again, nothing is useful when you are alone again.5

Abandoned by his heart and mind, waiting for the waves to crush his spirit and wash him away, throw him out to sea, bury him under the innumerable waves and slip him where he cannot be brought back from. Is this my destiny? Has it at last happened as she always worried it would, as I always expected? Knowledge of so many ways to hurt, finding no solace in anything anymore, who cares if I disappear? The waves lap at the lowest levels, brushing his feet and washing over his legs, reveals that which he stands on is at last, a graveyard of forgotten pains, and stolen memories. 6

His eyes open slowly, revealing the hollow that is his soul, and a look of pain crosses his stoic features, revealing at last the things he has sheltered in the deepest places of his heart, his mind, his soul. Those things that none were allowed to see, because he could not bear to burden them. On his back the yolks of all he care for lay, his mission to take on their pains successful. Alas after so many years of his pains, he took on theirs as well, and made it his duty to comfort them.7

Then a silver light shines from in his hand, and he look down to see the cross he was holding, its radiant surface like that of a lighthouse, trying to lead him back, and stared at its platinum bars. What purpose is there if his world is gone, he ask himself, to hold onto such a simple thing? Raising his arm to cast it to the wind, to the waves that will soon take him, but he cannot. Lowering that same arm he opens his palm and gazes into the cross once more, wondering silently, am I already gone and am only trying to ease my last moments here on this desolate plain?8