Creation's Reckoning

Lightning tears through the window. The storm isn’t outside anymore — it’s in the room.

The air tastes of metal. Thunder slams into your chest and refuses to leave.

You see nothing but a candle, trembling like it knows. Then the scream

breaks loose. Not human. Not animal. Something unfinished that should not

exist. A hand jerks. Fingers scrape. A body learns pain. You know it instantly:

This should not be here. But it is breathing. The man who made it steps back.

Not in horror. In refusal. He turns away — from his creation, from responsibility,

from the moment that demands an answer. But this time, it is not real.