Water Cycle (Dramatic)
Storyboard Text
- Has my suffering not been enough thus far? These hundreds of thousands of millions of years of constant pain, recycled but kept fresh, unmuddied by millennia of disconcert and the addling of my sanity? No, there is no end to this cycle, the catalyst from which my misery is born.
- It's about that time again, isn't it? I can feel it in my non-existent bones. The slight quaver of the air around me, the way the molecules making up my atomic structure shudders violently in anxious anticipation. The water cycle has come once more to reap havoc upon my eternal being.
- Ugh, of course, Evaporation, the first stop in this painfully familiar tour of torment. The step where my entire body slowly agonizes in bright, frothing pain, the sheer flare of hurt that births from the sensation of having one's being change form entirely, slowly, completely. From a liquid to a gas. From an uncertain existence to uniform presence, spread thin across the vast and empty sky along with billions of my brethren from the cruel pains of condensation. We were many, but now, we are one.
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- Oh, the humanity! Here comes precipitation! In the span of mere seconds, I am ripped out of my immortal coil of vapor amalgamate and once again, relegated to being but a drop of water. Here, falling to the next part of this eternal cycle of doom, I am joined only by my brothers, who unfortunately do not possess the means of verbal communication.
- Oh, would you look at that. Rocks. How comforting to know that my very essence will be reduced to mere groundwater as I'm left to await the next part of the cycle.
- The crashing waves have taken me from my solitary confinement of gray-dead rocks. Cowabunga.
- I arrive. The cruel waves of mistress Nature shall leave me to the vultures at the crest of these sandy grounds, left as runoff. Those plants, inconspicuously growing in sand and next to saltwater, they'll become my next vessel from which I will slumber.
- Here I am, once again. Now, I'll infiltrate the soil and be absorbed by those flowers, demonic predators that only seek to steal what little nutrients I possess. Inside of those stems, I'll be once again stuck in my monotone existence, no purpose, forever floating. The only stimuli that reaches me now is the agonizing pain that awaits me with every cycle.
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