Nighttime blabbering 794

A massive storm is coming. I see the front amassing on the horizon, just above the glowing line of dusk. The Sun is about to sink behind the mountain, and the grey clouds are already spitting raindrops. I had a productive day. Mother sent me to pick the tomatoes. Their season is almost at the end. I found them all eaten by bugs, half rotten with white foamy mold on their bottom. Only a bucket full of them survived. I hope that’s enough for one more batch of spicy spread we cook for winter. Later on, I went with my father to gather branches left from the trees we cut down for firewood. We drove in two loads to bake our rakija. Soon, when the storm blows over, we will plan our tasks for the future. In these moments before a heavy storm, I just sit and recall my day. My motivation is low, so I don’t work on the novels. I am contemplating on the short story idea, which would be nice to write down, but I have two or three scenes in my mind that I can’t decide which one is the best. None provide an emotional moment I can build around to make a story. Besides, this solitude I am feeling could be that one thing I am looking for, but I don’t know how to channel it. It could suffice for a hard-hitting plot twist, culmination, or a grand reveal. Still, I am contemplating, staring at the dark shroud enveloping the distance with a glowing underbelly. It’s autumn. It’s the rainy season. It will stick around, just like this damn sense of loneliness.

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