Imagine the sun. Imagine its warmth, the embrace of a benevolent God nursing you from the cold of the morning. Imagine the rays peeking through the windows, illuminating the specs of dust all around you. Imagine the children, shouting and screaming in playful jest with each other, kicking around a ball, unmoved by the scorching sun. Imagine the kiosk, packed with weary travellers seeking refuge from the heat, underneath the shade, with the help of a cold soda.
Instead, see the clouds. Feel the cold uncaring air, thrust upon you by your malicious and sadistic Deities. See the darkness, the overhead clouds working as a folly to the youth of the children. Hear the distant thunder, a persistent thunder to lull you into thinking rain will soon drop, which it never will. See the empty shops, once full of folk wanting shelter from the once present overhead sun. Torch up your wooden pile, scurry to the dancing flames at the mantelpiece, and hope your dear Divinity shines once more, just a sliver of their altruism.
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