the short story project


The Storm

He was a brewing storm that I desperately tried to calm. I knew that it was best to leave it alone. To let it cease by itself. But I couldn’t help myself. I was in love with an underlying rage of turmoil that was bound to erupt at any moment.

I clung to the wind that I could never hold onto. I leaned on the unstable haze that never lasted long enough to take form. I embraced the cold and tried to share my warmth. Instead, it consumed me. I succumbed to its darkness until my softness had become rough edges. Until my hope had simmered and all that was left was disappointment, mostly at myself for not listening to what I had already known, for attempting to become the exception to what time and time again had already been proven. By trying to change something that should have been left to solitude.

Its self-destruction was inevitable.

In the end, I joined him in his suffering. Instead of lifting him up, I let him bring me down. I was now a companion of a ticking bomb. I stood next to developing chaos and building madness.

All I saw was him. All I saw was bright hope that shifted into a deep dark unsettling foreboding. All he saw was the sky that he would never reach. But in the pitch black I knew we would survive, because at least we had each other. Until one day I reached for his hand, and it was gone quicker than the light.

I truly believed together we would be fine, but I was alone the entire time. I tried to lift his shadow and conquer his dread, instead I’ve grown to live under the nightmares in my head. I tried to grab onto whatever faith that I had left, but only defeat was left in its depth.


I tried to calm a brewing storm, but I become one myself instead.


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