Irrelevancy

In the midst of something grand, a certain soul hath grasped a vengeful brand. To the sky, the soul brings forth a mighty wind and sweeps the land with a forceful blow. Each passing of wind squeals with the sound of a thousand pigs, plus one. Having no other viable alternative, the soul brushes across the land with determination that would challenge the fear of a little boy, waiting to get off the school bus on the last day. First to die, last to live; the soul is thrown to the earth with painful anguish and immediately is found desolate and alone. The world spinning around the soul, a map to the stars is drawn and a path is chosen. To the left is death and to the right is death. Neither choice is significant, but both choices are inevitable; futile, but inevitable. In the wake of determination, the soul sets forth on the path to death; maintaining sanity with a cup of warm water and a glass of salvation. Onwards to inevitability, the soul cries out, charging into the vast unknown darkness of a path neither sufficient of its own integrity; but far greater in its secrets hidden deep within the black smoke and crowded forests parading around the pathway to an inevitable death. Choice, in a matter of speaking, is irrelevant.