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| The Storm by � butterflydancer707 It was one of those rainy Vancouver nights that she sat by the window to write. Allowed her eyes to stray now and then, out towards the bay, where she caught glimpses of it faintly against the storm. Movement like music straining in her mind, the marimbas, the drum, the violins, coming together in a crescendo of sound and light. In the distance a doorbell. Her eyes searched the wooden clock on the left wall. Two a.m. Deliberatly she held back. Willed herself to not respond, until she heard faint rasping noises against the night. She descended the steps two at a time, wrestled the door against the wind, reached for him in the cold. "I barely made it into the bay," he whispered, "the wind was so strong, I saw your light..." He was wet, wounded, collapsed into her. She struggled to stay inside her dream. slowly opened her eyes against the cool, cruel dawn, knew he was gone. All night long she'd dreamt of sunny, corn-filled fields and comfortable, contented women in colorful skirts. She'd never go to meet him again, and he'd never make it back to her this time. He was gone forever, blown away in last night's storm. The sun blazed through the window, forced her to witness her emptiness. The imprint of him lay like a stone against her heart. On her sofa, a straw hat, still damp from last night's storm, forgotten there, abandoned. She reached into her bedside drawer, drew out the sharpest scissors she could find. One-by-one she plucked her eyes out and threw them into the bay. In grief and darkness she felt her way to the desk and there began to write the eulogy of her soul. |