Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole...
Morning had come, at least according to the clock on the wall. The storm still raged on however, obscuring everything in it's inky abyss. The blanket of nothingness would almost be peaceful except for the sound. The piercing scream still stabs deep into my soul, threatening to tear me apart. Now and again lightning flashes downward, always seeming to arc and reach for me, blinding me from seeing anything this sole momentary light might reveal in the darkness. But sight is not needed, for the renching deep inside tells me what lies ahead, and that it's getting closer. I find each breath comming a bit faster than the last, and the bitter-sweet taste begining to touch my tongue. The war is comming. The stalemate has lasted for years, but the end has come. To the victor, only the solace of a tenious peace, and time to tend the wounds suffered. There was a time when such a war, with all that would be suffered, even in triumph, for so little a reward would have felt absurd. Innocence, however, is a very fragile thing. Tempered through suffering and sharpened by such pain, I have lost more than I can yet fathom. I open myself to the pain, salting my wounds. Drawing every painful memory to one point, pressing them tighter waiting for the flashpoint to fuel my rage and direct my anger. The shadow is watching, waiting. Soon, that wait will be over. There will be no quarter given, and if I must drag them with me into the eternal fires, then so be it. It will end. The taste grows stronger...