Black skies, punishing wind, diamond rain. Squinting so hard against the storm his eyes were closed. He was stopped in his footsteps. The weather reduced him to a huddled pile of person. He was a toddler and the storm was a drunk, abusive father. Any fighting back was a waste of energy. He knew he would just have to take it, and hope it didn’t kill him. He sat on his haunches under a tree, his arms wrapped around his folded legs. The tree gave no protection and was being torn apart and thrown at him. It was raining bullets sideways. The violence assaulted every sense. He could taste the abuse. He could smell the violence. The brutality was deafening. The Earth was unfurling retard strength.
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