the wind

He sighed. A breeze sighed softly in the wind. Mellow, soft, sad. He stood in his castle above the clouds, a castle so huge, you wondered why it didn’t sink below the surface of the earth, and yet, here it was. Above the clouds. But when you touched it, when you were here, you felt lightless. Minimal gravity acting on you. You felt almost certain that if you were to step into the lawns made of clouds, you would not fall. Almost. Certain. The wind that existed here was in a plane of being that made it smell like whatever brought you pleasant memories and associations. The castle was rounded, no pointed spires. Round. And weird shapes that structurally should have made no sense, should not have been able to exist, but here, they did. He scribbled on his notepad. Now furious. Below him, wind raged. Pushing down everything and anyone that came into its path. His room was large. Grand. A hall. A room where he saw the people that came to pay respects, and to ask for favors. This was where he entertained them. There was a glass mirror above. It was the shape of a breeze. This was what he was looking into, making a gesture with his hand as if swiping left. The images on the mirror changed as if they were channels. But they were so close. If you touched the glass, your fingers would push through the screen, and you felt like you would touch the things on screen. You were sure there was a screen. But there was none. The images did one of two things. They either fell farther back, out of your reach, or they let your finger touch them and pass through. You were sure this was real. This was happening. You did not know how. But you knew.

The man scribbling on the paper put it aside for a minute. His hands trembled. A drop of water fell on the desk. Down below, winds brought terrible gusts of water from the sea, whipping, and battering all those that were in their path. People screamed. People died. By the dozens.

Outside the castle, there was silence. You could see nothing, but you could feel a wary, warm wind whipping all the while. Those were his guards. These ethereal forms, that he had birthed. Forms that would turn into humans for your pleasure, into women for his. Forms that surrounded the castle, and protected it. Forms that had been promoted from their windly duties on earth. These were the best of the best. His legionnaires.

He pulled the paper towards him, then thought better of it. He threw the writing implement away. It clattered across the desk as it skidded away from him. He looked into the mirror that showed images of things happening elsewhere. He swiped his hand, a grand gesture. It showed him what he wanted to see. The frown lines on his forehead faded, the sorrowful eyes found a twinkle, and he smiled.