Storm of Duality

“Not again. Not so soon.” Margaret’s whisper carried over the silence of the house. With a fierce grip, she bit her remaining fingernail, tearing a piece off and causing the skin to bleed. Margaret stood at the window as the sky brooded, thick with the weight of an impending storm. Dark clouds churned in slow agony, twisting and folding over themselves as if writhing in torment. This storm, she knew, would continue for days. Long agonizing days.

A sharp gust of wind rattled the glass, and she flinched. The leaves outside skittered like restless spirits, whispering secrets she didn’t want to hear. The first patter of rain kissed the roof, soft, almost deceivingly gentle. She, however, saw through the deception. Soon, the downpour would come. The sky would open, and the world would drown in its sorrow.

She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. It was happening again. The slow, creeping descent. The shift within herself that she feared most.

Margaret felt strangely linked to the storm. A tether that bound her to its fury, its anguish. As the clouds thickened and the thunder rumbled low in the distance, something inside her twisted. The familiar chasm in her mind yawned open, and she felt herself slipping into it.

Her childhood marked her first awareness of this connection. A violent thunderstorm had raged outside, and she had found herself gripped with a restless, frantic energy. It was as though the storm had crawled inside her, and filled her veins with its electric charge. Her mother had found her hours later, curled in a corner, whispering to herself. “It’s not me,” she had murmured over and over. “It’s not me.”

Adulthood brought no change to that feeling. The storm, the darkness, the shifting inside her—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. That’s how it felt. Two selves, coexisting in fragile balance, until the storm tipped the scale.

A peal of thunder cracked across the sky, and she clenched her hands into fists. The rain was coming harder now, sheets of it hammering against the house with merciless force. The wind howled, shaking the trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky.

As she moved from the window, the walls felt like they were closing in, the shadows distorting her sense of reality. She reached for the kettle with unsteady hands, trying to focus on something tangible, something real. But her fingers fumbled, and the kettle clattered to the floor with a deafening crash.

Margaret gasped, stumbling back and slamming into the counter. The impact sent a jolt through her body, but it was nothing compared to the dread twisting inside her. The storm’s grip extended beyond the world outside—it clawed at her very mind, unravelling her sanity thread by thread. She could feel herself fracturing, her thoughts splintering under the immense pressure, as if something dark and insidious lurked just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to take control.

The whispering started then.

Not from outside. Not from the wind. But from within her own head.

“Just surrender. It will be easier.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, rocking her head. “No.”

“Why fight it? You know this is who you are.”

She pressed her hands to her temples. Her breathing was increasing like the thunder and lightning. Her ears were buzzing, overpowering the storm itself. Margaret sensed her body was detaching from itself, like her reality was crumbling to the floor. It was the storm inside her; the darkness waiting to consume her.

Another crack of thunder split the sky, and a bolt of lightning illuminated the house in a stark, white flash. Margaret reconnected with her body again and felt the surge through her veins like she poked a fork in a light socket. She glimpsed at herself in the kettle’s reflection. Her dilated eyes, the size of marbles, and her pale, almost unrecognizable face, stared back at her.

Then she realized the storm had taken her.

She staggered backward, her hands clutching at the edge of the counter. She needed to hold on. To ground herself. She didn’t want to become that person. Darkness prompted unthinkable actions. It whispered to her, feeding her fears, twisting her thoughts until right and wrong blurred together. It promised relief, power, an escape from the suffocating weight of reality. But she knew the cost. She had seen it before, felt it claw at her mind, urging her to surrender. Her fingers gripped the counter tighter, nails biting into the surface. She had to resist. She fought despite the overwhelming urge to give up.

Letting go felt incredibly tempting. To release pent-up emotion, to embody the storm’s will. She could feel the power coiling in her chest, raw and untamed.

Another roar of thunder. Another crash of rain. The wind shrieked, rattling the windows as she thought they might shatter.

Margaret let out a strangled sob. “Please… stop.”

But storms don’t listen. Their anger is unrestrained and they destroy.

Tears burned fiery trails down her cheeks. She staggered forward, pressing her forehead to the cool glass of the window. The rain distorted the world outside, turning everything into an indistinct blur. Just like her mind.

She had to hold on. She had to be strong and fight.

With a trembling breath, she forced herself to move. To step away from the window. She grabbed the kettle from the floor and set it back on the stove, the simple motion anchoring her. She filled it with water, her fingers still shaking, but moving with purpose.

The dizziness was overpowering her while vibrations pulsate at her temples and brief electrical shakes interrupted her thought process.

She would endure the storm, both outside and within—but what awaited on the other side? Would she emerge unscathed, or would the tempest leave its mark, reshaping her in ways she could never undo?

Having put the kettle back on the counter, Margaret closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She made her way to the special place, the soundproof area, with images of forests, waterfalls, and seascape. She made sure it was stocked with water, nuts, and protein bars. This served as her refuge, untouched by inner or outer turmoil. Here, seemingly serene, she escaped chaos, briefly rediscovering herself.

Margaret cast a final glance at the furious storm, its howls clawing at the windows like a desperate specter. As she forced the door shut, the latch clicked into place—a thin barrier between her and the chaos beyond. Yet, just before the silence settled, the storm’s final utterance slithered through the cracks, a venomous whisper threading into her mind. “You can never escape me. I’ll always be with you.”

A tremor ran down her spine, but she clenched her fists, grounding herself. The storm could rage, it could scream, but she refused to let it claim her. Not tonight.

And for tonight, that was enough.