The Wind

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It always starts with the wind. 

With the rustle of the leaves, the silent anger of Mother Nature.

The noise seems to die off. Things become clearer, more focused, as the silence brought on by the howling encompasses the world.

I have nothing. No characters, no plot. Just a strange sense of calm, before an inevitable storm. I can feel the thunder in the air. Even before it strikes, I can feel its rumble, I can see the sudden flash of light. Something awakens, some strange inspiration.

Deep in the dark of the night, broken by flashes of violence, lurks something new. The air is electric and I can feel life in its primordial form; wild and untamed, complex and beyond comprehension.

The need to explain is not present, because the cold caress of wind against my skin, the blinding light of the storm brings about understanding which defies explanation and nullifies all but pure existence.

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A calm washes over me and a new life begins to form. Words and worlds appear, waiting to be crushed under the trivialities of reality.

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