You will hear thunder and remember him, And think: he wanted storms. The rim of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson. And his heart will be on fire. Despite what it may seem, Time does indeed exist here, in small amounts. Feint forces of the universe they were, nearly indiscernible from the nothingness. A wind of change is blowing at him from behind and he needs to push forward with iron determination and a mental clarity hereto before unknown to him. Something in the microcosm that didn't even have a name went bling and against all the laws of probability, he is starting to open his eyes.
