Mood Writing

The storm rages outside, tearing up trees and slicing at buildings. Lightning cracks as the thunder rumbles, and a lone soul stumbles down the highway. Rain pours down from the sky like an petulant child, wailing and hitting everything within reach and without cover. Branches fly through the air, borne by the ridiculous winds. Cars' headlights slash into the man's eyes, as they dilate in fear and emotions rage inside him. He trudges against the wind, and, finally giving up, he slams his back against a post, running his hands through his dark-blonde, rain-slicked hair.

   Pulling the tall collar of his leather coat up as a wind guard, he rummages through his pockets, searching for a cigarette. Having found one, he flicks the lighter in his elegant hand, and after trying three times, he throws his cigarette and lighter to the side in disgust, hands shaking. He yanks the cigarette out of his mouth as a low, deep laugh starts inside him. Continuing to walk slowly and heavily forward, he throws his head back as his laugh morphs into a cackle so deep, so loud, so persistently, evilly gleeful, it would send shivers down one's body to have heard it. He reaches into his other pocket and fingers a Bowie knife lying inside. He wonders what to do, now she's gone...

For the meantime, he laughs, and walks...