Fragments Gallery
To Watch the Storm
There is dampness in the air; the wind that blows against your face is cool and damp. A sharp scent reaches your nose and you inhale deeply. It's the smell that comes before the rain, tainted with the heavy scent of brine and the sea. You lift one hand over your shoulder, your arm straight and palm flat against the sky. Your eyes rise to the skies, and you stare far off towards the distant horizon. A gathering storm fills the empty air above the sea, thunder cracks and lightning flashes, providing brief illumination for the rocky cliff on which you stand.
Sparse grass pokes out from between the rocks. It’s almost funny. Funny that even here on these windswept cliffs tufts of grass can still survive.
Far below your feet the waves crash against the cold stone lining the base of the cliffs. Each consecutive wave produces a torrential roar as it pounds against the jagged rocks.
That’s fine; it doesn’t really fit your mood. Instead the sound seems to compliment it. It seems calming.
The storm grows closer as you stand watch. The heavy rain pounds the rolling surface of the water. Thunder claps again and your breath catches in your throat. The power the storm shows is staggering, yet you show no fear as it sweeps towards you. Today you have chosen to stand witness to the storms fury.
Soon enough the storm surrounds you, yet still you remain out on the cliff. You stand steadfast as the elements rage around you, but still you feel no fear. Chilled water sprays against your bare arms; the gusts muss your hair. Lightning falls all around and the force of the wind threatens to push you off the cliffs edge, yet still inexplicitly you remain. Your eyes close against the biting droplets and you listen as the winds howl around you, shrieking their piercing cries.
Soon though the storm passes and you are left dripping and cold, but elated at the same time. You faced the storm. You endured.
A half remembered question lingers on the edge of your mind. You focus and along with the face of the one who asked it the question comes to you. The circumstances were different then… but the meaning was the same.
Is this what it means to live?
An icy feeling brings you out of your musings and you return your attention to the surrounding world.
Beads of chilled water slide down your arm leaving glistening trails on your skin. After a long arduous journey the droplets come to rest in your palm. The colour of the glinting water catches your eye. The pooled water within your cupped hand seems to be tinted differently than water usually is. The colour of the water seems wrong.
Your eyes widen as you stare at the droplets on your hand and you glance up at the sky. You close your eyes and take a deep breath; steeling yourself before you look back at your hand.
Those rain drops… no. Impossible. How could the water have a rosy tint?