Blood-drenched Beard

He gets up a while later, not really sure if he dozed off or not. Something important has changed in the atmosphere, but it is hard to tell what. The clouds have grown thicker, and the dusk is colorless. The fog has disappeared. He looks at the horizon and feels a chill run down his spine. A terrifying storm is gathering out at sea. Dark clouds rise up like mountains advancing toward the beach, an ominous wall that extends along almost the entire visible horizon, but something about it doesn’t seem right. The storm moves and doesn’t move at the same time. It changes shape, but the transition from one state to the other can’t be perceived. The more he looks, the more unsure he is that they are storm clouds. There is no lightning or thunder. The dark mountain range is mirrored by the horizon and deformed here and there as it compresses and stretches. Its shapes appear both close and blurred by the distance. They are somewhat holographic. If they are as close as they look, he’ll be engulfed by a typhoon before he can run to shelter. If they are as distant as they also look, they must be of gigantic, otherworldly dimensions. He thinks he might be watching a tidal wave roll in. The effect of an apocalyptic meteorite in the heart of the Atlantic. The end of the world approaching in silence. He is hypnotized as he watches the phenomenon change shape, float, always looking like it is arriving without drawing any closer. Shortly before nightfall the vision begins to fade and disappears uneventfully.

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