Birds were chirping outside as the night sky took on that summer hue of blue he’d grown to dread. Very deliberately, he tossed his phone onto the couch without looking at the time. The alarm was set and over on the couch he’d actually have to rise to shut it off. Sadly, not even that was always enough. The pillow always beckoned, drawing him in, lulling him back to sleep. As always, he dismissed the thought as worries for the coming day in that far-away land known as tomorrow.

Rotating his right arm counter clockwise produced a snapping sound from his shoulder. It sounded worse than it felt, though. The thought had struck him more frequently of late, why he was driving himself on the way he did. He’d not been willing to admit it before but he felt like a prisoner. Life, education, work, hobbies and habits, all of it contributed to the stagnant feeling of being stuck. He carried it with him like a solid chunk of iron attached to his chest. Working out made him feel less shackled, as if he could somehow break the fetters that chained him to the reality of his life.

His bed did not provide the comfort and feeling of sanctuary it so often had in the past. No, his thoughts were sleep-depriving demons prodding and poking at him as he twisted and turned to get away from them. What bothered him more than anything else was the fact that he could not put his finger on what caused his unrest. What was it that made him feel the way he did? Something had to change, he knew that much. But what?

Life, it seemed, had lost some of its shine. Truth be told, it had been quite a while since he had done or experienced something that made him feel alive, like every breath he drew mattered and counted toward something. He reckoned that’s what he got for being an adrenaline junkie. Seeing life’s true beauty and allure was in many ways a curse. It made not seeing it in that light and with those adrenaline-addled eyes bland, grey and uninteresting.

Taking a moment’s pause from his self-tormenting to curse at the birds chirping outside made him feel a little better, however. Besides, it wasn’t like he felt miserable. His feelings were… difficult to pinpoint. Grudgingly, he admitted that he was utterly and completely bored. If someone had told him that rushing outside and killing the squawking seagulls would have caused serious commotion and started a feud with his elderly neighbour that would take neighbour-hostility to new heights previously unknown to mankind, he’d probably have done it. He had no ill will nor did he harbour any true hostility to his kind neighbour. Most of the time they got along quite well, a real nice old chap actually.

For as long as he could remember there had been one feeling in particular that he could always pinpoint. Even now it ruled him, showing its true colour with alarming clarity. Anticipation deeply rooted in knowledge, or paranoia. Change, he would welcome change with open arms. He knew that a storm was coming. He had always known. He needed it to come, with thunder, lightning, roaring winds and all. It was a need that had manifested in his imagination as a goddess of tempests and it would be to her he offered up prayer before sleep at long last overtook him.


About Fredrik Kayser

Everything is connected.
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5 Responses to Tempest

  1. Fredrik Kayser says:

    :D Glad it resonated with you, hehe. Feels reassuring that I’m not the only one haha.

  2. Yet again I feel like you’re writing things just for me lol :D

  3. Fredrik Kayser says:

    Thank you! ^^

  4. A.D. Everard says:

    This had a nice flow to it. Very enjoyable. :)

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