If/Then Edit!

Through a field, lush and green in the late months of summer. The blistering heat of the day subsided as the sun dipped to the horizon in a dance of astronomical proportions;

They walk. A group. Friends. Lead by no one. Manipulated by one, unknowingly to the others.

Ice and snow. Forming. Soft pats of impact. A cold breeze turned into a howling wind. Could’s turn to thunderheads. Anvils in the sky. Rumbling. Ice and snow. Falling harder and harder. A howl turned into a scream. Thunderheads exploding. Anvils being struck and abused causing sparks. Rumbling, to a roar. “What is happening?!”

“When did this get here!?”

“WHY ME?!?”

Abruptly, there is an absence of sound.

Then a flash.

Lightning.

Air is sucked into the point of impact, and from it comes the crash of thunder and a massive firestorm. Ice turned to oil slicks, and snow turned to ash. In an instant, a peaceful walk in a lush field in the middle of the woods, turned to unthinkable terror.

From the smoke and ash, a figure. A shape. Walking towards the now terrified group. The crunch of ash followed by a leg swishing through the thick air was louder than all the chaos happening around them. Out comes a person. Eyes glowing Bluish-orange.

“W-w-Who are you!?”

”WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?”

“I don’t know why but you look---”

"Familiar”

a boom of a voice, crisp and distinctive. “You know what I was, not what I have become.”

“n-name?” (Not sure what name I should use to keep it out of the actual sense of my reality)

“No.” It says grimly, squeezing it’s left fist and looking at the palm of its right.

“I am the storm you fear.”

It’s left fist started to glow, brighter and brighter.

“I am, what you caused.”

Before anyone else could speak, flames and ash engulf them all.

No cries of pain to be heard. No tears. No more fear. Only the ash falling to the ground. Growing colder. Fire receding. Oil freezing to ice, and ash forming snow. The anvils silenced. Thunderheads calmed and thunder ceased. The wind, died just enough for a photograph to twirl and dance it’s way to the ground. Where it landed, the snow melted. Revealing a patch of green grass.

The group. At a long table. Drinking, eating. Laughing.

And the figure.

Next to the manipulative one.

Holding hands.

The photo combusted. Leaving a scorched mark in the grass while the snow slowly crept back, numbing and cooling the burn, covering the key-chain inscribed with "If/Then".