The Calm During the Storm: an Allegory

 By Anonymous

A white streak of light seared across like a swift brushstroke, the violet edges radiating against the dark gloom that had infected the canvas. The violent strikes sent bolts of dolor to the land, the pitter patter of rain oozing down as trees weaved around with the brute wind, shaking and falling down defeatedly. Townsfolk screamed in agony as they were ruthlessly struck down, their bodies leaving a faint imprint on the mangled grass. The destruction was mortifying, everything in sight torn to shreds and drowned in the rainfall. And a young child was forced to bear witness. Forced to watch the destruction of his home, his friends, and his family before his glossy eyes. Yet, he ignored their pleas and screams. Ignored their sobs and hics of pain. Instead, a strange wave of tranquility awashed over the child with every strike, every slice, every beating he watched them endure. The rainfall no longer had its once gut-wrenching effect, instead now evening the pace of the wind's breath. As the trees fell to the drenched grass, they were finally able to rest from the struggle of standing in his eyes. Every streak of lighting added another beautiful mark to the storm, the colors glowing against the skin of the sky. The people were almost nonexistent in his eyes, viewing them only as nutrients to replenish the Earth for battles to come. Beyond his eyes, beyond his mind, he knew deep down in his heart that no good was to come of this suffering. But he chose to ignore it, chose to focus solely on the tranquility that snuck its way in during the storm.