Wayward maiden

On a stormy summer’s night, an anvil adorned behemoth loomed. Its intent inscrutable, its machinations mystifying, it swallowed up the sky.

After a pregnant pause, the behemoth bellowed,

“You! See my anger!”

The landscape flickered.

“You! Feel my fury!”

Innumerable jagged columns of light shot down and exploded. Condensation overflowed and spilled out below.

A wayward young maiden called out,

“No!”

She squeezed her rain soaked dress dry and continued on her way. The uneasy quietude of her mindless meandering that had so far entranced her was then interrupted by a thought:

“I mustn’t indulge the voices.”

And then it was again interrupted, this time by a freshly formed puddle blocking her path. She let out a resigned sigh and took up seat before it. Looking down, she saw her reflection. But it did not stare back. Instead, the downpour distorted her dour doppelgänger’s visage. She stared at it perplexedly as its gaze ticked and tocked to and fro, its blank expression warping into tortured contortions trading turns with ghoulish grins.

Exasperated, she asked herself,

“Must these summer torrents bring me so much torment?”

Just as she tried to look away, the distorted doppelgänger’s lips mouthed,

“You! See your anger! Feel your fury!”

She stood up. With rain running down her face forming tears she herself could not shed, she lifted her boot and ran, trampling the puddle underfoot.

“No!”

She ran and ran, trying tirelessly to outrun the rain. And as soon as freedom felt within reach, a windy whisper ran up her cheek and wormed its way into her ear:

“You! Hear our anger! Feel our fury!”

The wayward young maiden covered her ears and dropped to her knees.

“No!

“I mustn’t indulge the voices!”

Just then, the clouds parted.