It strikes, the blue streaked lightning, hammering down upon the earth, each time, bringing about a deafening roar unlike that of the a lion yet still fearsome and full of the same murderous intent. A subtle crackling follows the awe-inspiring tear across the wind, like particles diffusing in the air, ionized by the sudden electrical surge.
The entire nightscape illuminated by the blue-white, brings about a frozen image of the nocturnal. Owls and the likes, revealed by the ungodly blaring of the very skies which it hunts in, yet unfazed and uncaring. With this very blast from the furnace of the heavens, every movement on land seems to begin to slow and halt momentarily. All things seem to be waiting for the next one, again and again.
Though the saturated air is dry yet a certain kind of moist permeates through the air, as if foretelling a coming storm. Only if the sky's temperament is predictable, then might we have had found solace before all of it broke loose, down upon us mortals.
A biting gale rose, out of nowhere and with it, a rustling of branches which grew violent as it escalates;
A warning that gave us no time to prepare for, the wind clawed at all that it could reach, fatal and impartial.
In this chaos brought out by the natural order of things, I could hear only your voice, booming like the thunder itself, distant but close to heart.
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