"Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight / Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay / Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
-Dylan Thomas
Yang looked out of the window, for no less than the thirty-second time that day, and instead of glancing away, let her gaze linger on nature.
She saw a bird flit past, speeding to a nest with food in it's beak. She saw the trees sway as the slight wind pushed the barren trunks from side to side. She saw what few leaves remained in the canopy drift quietly to a soft landing in the unmarred white snow. On an impulse, Yang readied her strength and jerked up on the window, opening her room to the freezing air from the outside.
She marveled at the stony indifference the cold bore towards her. It didn't seek to harm Yang, and she refused to let it beat her. Instead she looked with her skin, ears and nose as well as her eyes.
This time she felt the wind push on her as a Nevermore rocketed after the bird from before. She saw the explosion of sticks and debris as the bird's nest was annihilated, and heard the mother bird's helpless shrieks as the Nevermore ripped it to shreds. The untainted white snow now had blemishes of shattered egg and bloody children, their scent wafting on a headwind into Yang's all-sensing body. The trees swung violently to and fro, distant cracks and thunder signaling once proud trees' deaths. Another leaf fell. This time, as Yang watched it descend, it landed on the mother bird's corpse, erasing its effective existence from the world.
The cold wind kept blowing, and by now Yang loved the sensation. It seeped into her joints and bones, asking her body with all its suggestive power to let her finally sleep, instead of lying awake every night, and having nightmares when she did sleep. It took an effort of mind for Yang to politely refuse the proposal, and finally shut the window.
In the morning, Yang thought:
We are a great imbalance. All the proclaimed beauty we create is fleeting and pithy to nature. The planet waits desperately for us to die and let it reclaim it's rightful space.
Fuck the planet. I claim a right to rage against the fairness of the world, and make imbalances so huge that my kind will live forever. Life isn't fair, nor should it be. I lost an arm because I raged against unfairness, when really my enemy was equality, was fair trading, was a flat line. My enemy was Grimm, and I chose to fight people anyways. The Grimm are here to create a peaceful world. A peaceful, featureless, beautiful world. I am here to make a grand, glorious mess, and never let them clean it up, clean me up. From today on, I'm burning my way to a violent and chaotic end. I refuse to die in a bed waiting for peace to take me.