The wind is angry.

The wind is heartbroken. She begs for mercy from the agonizing suffocation of endless gray nightmares that we let out everyday.

The wind is crying, she doesn’t like what we’ve done to her; what we’re doing to her. She tries to warn us, she crashes against window pains and destroys monstrous trees.

The wind is angry, she howls late at night and throughout the day, invading our peace, just like we did hers.

The wind is angry. She never liked destruction, she didn’t like storms but she has no choice. She cries burning tears of fire as she knocks out yet another mighty tree.

The wind is angry. She doesn’t like being disrespected, she doesn’t like being crossed. She doesn’t give several chances and we’ve used up all of ours.

The wind is angry, she’s out to get revenge. She’s going to get us back, she’s ready to wreak havoc and she doesn’t like being stopped.

The wind is angry, she doesn’t like being ignored. She wanted us once, she warned us twice, she warned us about a million times but now she has her war face on, and the gods couldn’t stop her, no matter how much they tried.