I am a multitude within the limits of this one.
Identity, reality, being, constructed to be destroyed.
A player in this narrative of deceit.

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Ah! hahaha!

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I am very happy you think so anon! :)

Ghouls

Tempestuous winds blew through broken windows. Shrill bellows bouncing across her bedroom walls. Shrieking wraiths manifesting to torment her. 

Lucy huddled, knees against her chest, wrapped in a thick wool blanket. Her sparse furnishings splattered grey with rain.

Lucy hated the storm. Not storms in general. Thunderstorms she found to be quite pleasing. Fascinating really. The explosive crackle of lightning as it furiously travels down the atmosphere felt to her like momentous flashes of passion. The earth expressing it’s eros. And in turn igniting her own.

But this storm, with its cruel bitter winds and hot heavy rains bursting through her windows, reminded her of those wretched childhood afternoons she struggled to suppress. Of defiant memories that now burst forth unfettered. Of her mother’s stubborn silence and obedience. Of broken bones and bruised limbs. Of days spent quietly crying in the hallway closet. Hiding from the sounds of her mothers distressed sobs. 

She knew that she should be relieved, happy even. Justice, in a sense, had finally been served. But these ghouls of wind would not let her forget that damage done remains grafted in the soul. She could hear it in the cracking words of her mother as she delivered the news over the phone the week before.

"Liver failure." She said. Words almost lost amongst the tears.

"Finally did him in."

“Men come and go, cities rise and fall, whole civilizations appear and disappear-the earth remains, slightly modified. The earth remains, and the heartbreaking beauty where there are no hearts to break….I sometimes choose to think, no doubt perversely, that man is a dream, thought an illusion, and only rock is real. Rock and sun.” 

-Edward Abbey
From “Desert Solitaire”