This is my first story published, so I hope you like it. Sorry if this chapter seems short.

All property that isn't mine are owned by their respective owners.

Italic=Thoughts

Scott Helms sat at his oak desk, pen moving swiftly across the pages of the book in front of him. His desk lamp casting just enough light to reveal the items.

His hand never ceasing to move. Every word coming sequentially to him as his mind added more and more to his mental image of the page. Every word spelled correctly, every sentence punctuated, every paragraph, perfect.

Sometimes he even amazed himself at how fluently his poetry left his head and became permanently placed onto the page. It came so easily to him, as if the words themselves were alive and placed themselves onto the page for his hazel-blue eyes to look over.

Years ago, he never would have thought that this would be possible, living as a writer. For years he was told that it would be impossible to do so, not just by his friends, but also his family. They said that there was no money in making up stories or wasting time jotting down words onto paper only to have it tossed out. A waste of not only time, but money.

"Money." Scott's quiet monotone voice said as he slowly layed his pen on the desk. "I barely make enough to get by. But with this, I hope to change that." He pushed his glasses into a more comfortable position and turned his gaze to the clock on the wall. "1:29 AM... I really need to stop staying up so late, I have no reason to do this anymore. It's not like my parents can bother me here."

Scott looked back at the page he was working on. He was almost finished with 1/3 of his current poem.

"I'll just finish this line and I'll go to bed." He picked up his pen once more and proceeded to read off the last couple of lines that he wrote:

Love is a kiss,

designed to

"Love is a kiss designed to..."

"designed to..."

Scott placed his pen back on the desk and hung his head in contemplation. He both loves and despises these moments, when you can't find the right words. They are great for getting your brain to function at it's fullest capability, but it just feels like wasted time to him.

Feeling frustrated, he got up and left the desk. He moved through the cluttered room and opened the door that leads him from the room he's currently in (his study) to the main room.

Scott shed his plain black t-shirt to reveal his fairly average body. He layed the shirt across the back of his couch then turned to the table next to it. On the table was a radio, which he proceeded to turn on.

"As we can see," the news reporter stated. "the clouds are now directly above the station. They are still producing heavy showers and occasionally, thunder and lightning."

"Another storm." Scott said as he turned to walk to his bedroom to prepare for bed.

"The clouds are still moving at a very slow pace East of us" continued the reporter. "and continue to keep their dark purple hue."

This statement made Scott stop dead in his tracks. Purple clouds, he thought. I have to see this. He immediately turned away from his room and briskly walked towards his front door.

He opened the door to his cabin to reveal the forest that surrounded him. He looked in the distance and saw exactly what the reporter said, except, it was way more extravagant than what he heard.

The clouds were a very deep purple, yet remained transparent enough to see some stars from the night sky shining through it. The perimeter of the clouds had a dark red hue with other stains of dark red scattered throughout. And every now and then, there was a flash of lightning, brightening up the clouds with a radiant blue flare.

Scott could only stand there dumbfounded as he watched the clouds slowly make their way towards his direction. Only in his imagination could he have thought of this unnatural event. It seemed too unreal for words at all. As if this were actually a dream, though he knew it most definitely wasn't.

He just stood there, letting the cool wind brush past his dark brown hair and rustle the leaves on the trees. He then decided that he wanted a picture of this, so he could recall what he saw. It would certainly be useful for future projects. He turned to get his camera, but then, he heard something that stopped him.

A very loud cry followed by the sound of impact originated from the direction of the storm. It echoed through the trees and continued past Scott, who was in shock. He had never heard anything like this. He could think of no animal that made that sound. Even though he's only lived there for a year, he's positive that it's no ordinary cry of a native species.

"Whatever it is, it sounds like it's in the worst pain of its life." Scott whispered. I should really prepare for bed, but against my better judgment... Scott ran into his house, put his shirt back on, and ran out the door towards the unknown sound. A look of confusion and determination plastered onto his face.

In the distance, the sound of thunder can be heard.

I hope you all enjoy this story. My influence to make this is the song Signs Of Life by Poets Of The Fall.

I can never stop thinking of this story when I listen to it, which is frequently.

Note: I'm a very lazy procrastinator, so don't expect frequent updates. Sorry.