The day of reckoning came as the rain, washing the scent of violence and greed from all who stood in it. Waters of justice rose, not to drown the wicked, but wash them, and those who swam in the sickness of hate and unforgiveness would crash on the rocks of a new shoreline. They would be left broken, in the twilight of lost hope. The tide of atonement brought up those who were low, and brought low those who bathed in pride, so that they might taste its rot, and breathe its stink. A man stood on the hill before a crowd. Every breath he took was rank with the hate around him. A voice carried up.
"Do not look down from your high place! Will the wrath of God descend upon us?"
He answers, "No. The wrath of God will depend upon you."
*From the incomplete book, "The Wrath" by Caleb Smith
I know...poetrysoup...not storysoup, but I am trying to find inspiration to finish, as I am stuck. I hoped posting a few parts of it would help. The poem, 'Holding Sand' is also from the book.