The Storm gathered. Black clouds writhed through the air, twisting and turning in slow motion, like a fish thrashing on dry land with lightening crackling across its scales. Swirling and billowing, the wind rushed around the streets and over the houses, digging its way through cracks and under tiles, hurling itself against the boarded up windows and struggling to get at the people within.

When the world was young, the spirits of the sky swept over the glittering Earth, exulting in their freedom as they felt the wind blow around them, rain falling through their ghostly bodies. As the stream of life flowed all about them, the spirits felt its pulse; its heartbeat called to their souls.

The Storm grumbled. Sound vibrated through the earth. Animals hid while the birds had long since flown, but the people, in their houses of stone, remained. Although scared and worried, the citizens remained confident they could weather this unnatural Storm.

Like sentries, the air spirits watched over the land, and had grown to know and love all things living upon its surface. Sensitive to every ripple that undulated across the vast web of nature, they heard its voice, and found it to be unhappy. Doors slammed as fresh wind blew across it. People grumbled at the rain that sought to cleanse them. They were still young, the spirits of the wind and sky, and eager to please. Soon, the rain ceased to fall, and the wind to blow; people became content as the sun fell on a green and pleasant land.

The Storm moved. Like a hungry feline creeping up on an unsuspecting vole, it crawled slowly, purposefully, over the land. Windows rattled and crockery smashed as thunder boomed through the sky; a wall of sound that drove your ears deep into your skull. Static energy filled the air, which crackled around closed doors and made hairs stand upright in fear.

Contentment of the people had been short-lived. Soon they raised their hands to the sky and sent parched cries for water, and for breezes to cool their baked bodies, to bring life to the cracked earth. Confused, the spirits were nevertheless keen to correct the error that must surely be theirs. Once more the people felt fulfilled, sending them prayers of thanks. The spirits were happy.

The Storm paused. Silence rang like a bell over the darkened world as the thunder silenced and the air stilled. Tension occupied every available space, thick enough to swim through. Almost as if they feared they may suffocate in this lack of sound, thousands of people huddling behind stone and under slate held their breath. Had it stopped? Or was this just the hiatus before it struck with all the force that nature contained?

Calling for change and an end to the monotony of the days, the people once again looked to the skies. Irritated and uncertain, the spirits knew not what they should do. What the people now called for was the very thing they had complained about in the beginning. Puzzled, but hopeful, the spirits complied.

The Storm growled. Raw sound rent the still, silent air like an angry razor blade. Beginning as a low grumble that echoed in the deathly silence, it sent icicles of fear into the very heart of the people. Rising and amplifying, the growl became an all-encompassing roar that held the world, frozen, in its grip, like a wide-eyed rabbit caught in a headlight’s glare.

Still people wouldn’t be satisfied. Every day they complained of the heat, the cold, the rain. It was always too humid, too windy, or too calm. Anger welling up within them with each unsatisfied voice that reached their invisible ears; the spirits sped around the world, calling up winds to rent the air. “You fools!” they screeched. “Are you never satisfied?” But the only sound the people heard was the screaming of the wind as it whistled round the houses, and they blocked up the drafts with cloth. “Who do you think you are?” growled the Thunder. “Nothing! Parasites! Diseases! Away with you! Away with you all!”

In their great anger, the spirits ignored the desperate cries of the people below, their prayers for the Storm to end, hoping for mercy. Hellish torture was what the spirits endured, feeling the life that coursed through their veins, the life that was at once their child and their mother, being tainted and infected by these creatures that called themselves civilised. They had tried to love them, to accept them into the vast web of life, and what did they ever get in return? This scum took all and gave nothing! They must be annihilated! “You do not deserve the world you have been given. We shall cleanse it of your filth. We shall tear down your towers of steel and glass and clear the way for life to begin again, free from your reign.”

The Storm struck.