Whetstone

Storm, she had passed. She left behind the signs of her leaving. The air smelled of monsoon and felt cool against my skin.

I was lost. I was lost, even as I powerless sat

atop the parapet of my own house,

surveying it's remnants;

the relics; the scars. I gazed, and I could see, but I could not gauge, what exactly had fallen;

what exactly remained standing? Who would, in their right minds, decide to build another house in a world like this?

But I jumped off the edge and landed on my own two feet. Rose tall only to bend to pick up the pieces.

For I would rebuild now. Strength and valor held just as much worth after the storm. Perhaps more so then. Strangely I saw myself becoming stronger as I laid my foundation once more. With every brick I laid, I found more of myself. As my back bore the suffering of the world, I found a strange limitless strength within. I bared my bloodied fangs and laughed a maniacal laugh, knowing, that come what may, I would rebuild. My delighted howls echoed into the dark night as they reached the starry sky, and the moon adorned within, as I begged for an another hopeless storm to return, just so I could rebuild again.