not really InMon

It seems that “mindstorm” is rather popular and I feel compelled to participate, though I wrote this many years ago, so this doesn’t really count, but it goes well and I wanted to share it.

In the distant years to come, a man overwhelmed with his emotions will look up to the sky, and whisper to himself in speculation;
“Is it the weather that affects ones emotions, or a gathering of feelings that influences the sun and the rain?”
Although he will be deep in sorrow, and pain, and anger, and hate, the sun will shine the brighter and the calm breeze will gently carry the soft clouds across the delicate blue sky. So he will come to the conclusion that it is not the dreary weather that makes him sad, but his sadness that brings the dark clouds. Yet in all his sadness, the storm will not come. He will think the sky is too far away to hear his cry of pain, his mass of anger is too deep within to be seen by the rays of the sun, and his hate too great to be tamed by the blue sky.
He will desire to be rid of his inner pain, and in his wanting to cast it out, he shall venture close to the heavens where the wind will touch his feelings, and know which clouds to bring. So he shall obtain a great basket and set upon it a giant balloon to lift him off the ground. And he will sit in the basket and ride it as the balloon carries him up into the heights where the air is cold.
He shall float amongst the clouds and plea for them to envelope his sorrow with joy. He will ride the wind and request it to blow away his pain and replace it with peace. He shall absorb the sunlight and beg it to shine through him, gaze upon his anger, and melt it into calmness. He will be roofed by the sky so blue, and shout at it to cover his hate with love. Then he shall sit and wait for the weather to take away his unwanted emotions and turn them into feelings of good. But in all his asking, they will not respond to him. The clouds, and the wind, and the sun, and the sky will do nothing to change him, and he will not know how to change them.
So he will weep in failure, and try not again. And his terrible emotions will consume him and bring him to utter turmoil. Then the sky, and all contained within it, shall be disturbed by his outcry. His deep sorrow will become dark clouds around him. His pain will burst forth from him and strike down and pierce the sky as lightning. His cries will howl as fierce winds of a tempest. His anger and hate shall roar and shake the ground as great thunder. His tears will pour from his eyes and rain down a monsoon of grief. At last he will spill his dreadful feelings, release his burden of emotions, and be a calm, peaceful break in the center of his devastating storm. With his wrath escaped, he will bring upon others a taste of what was his inner turbulence, to remind them of how much they miss the sky of a beautiful day. And he will no longer be human, weighed down with feelings, troubled with the things of mankind. No longer be called man, but thereafter be named Hurricane.