Day 116

So she poured a single drop of rain into his ear.
The boy slept through it all, of course.
He was a heavy sleeper.
But had he not, he might have glimpsed the cause of his stormy day after.
Why his every step shook like thunder. Each angry howl found itself accompanied by a frothy drizzle.
For the dream witch had planted a storm seed in his head. And his soggy dreams would only feed it throughout the night.
She, the dream witch, was growing a breaker. A blower. A billower and a shaker. One who cannot see a thing without wanting to destroy it.
This one would grow into an investment landowner and seek out neighborhoods to tear up and down. And true to the storm he would strive to become, he would ignore the cries of adults and children alike.
He would never be satisfied by serenity, nor calm.
It would always feel a prologue to his work yet to be done.

This is the reason people break the world.
Or at lease, its the only sense I can make of it...