Here is another snippet of another work in progress. I couldn't resist playing with some common tropes, seeing how much I could tell by showing through metaphor. At the very least, it keeps me busy :)
A neon sky embraced the night, igniting the oily clouds shrouding the stars. Rain fell as though the heavens wept; thunder rolled and rumbled, sending shudders through the house.
Such a thing didn’t seem possible to Myron Poe. The violence of the storm felt surreal, as though the skies in some way had been angered, seeking revenge upon the world below.
Sitting in the dark, cradled in a wingback chair, Myron peered through the picture window at the moiling tempest. Oaks, maples and spruce waved back and forth in eerie unison. The wind greedily plucked yellow and red leaves from some of the trees – leaving the green ones behind as though their time had not yet come.