The Inner Monologue of Cher’s Vagina

(A wind rises, slowly from the east.  It is a gentle wind at first, but its coming is urgent.  It picks up speed, as though a thing alive.  The wind has purpose, a purpose older than man and it is incomprehensible to all the creatures it touches.  The wind grows)

Whooooooo….

Issssssss……

Thissssssssss?

(The wind whips against the long grasses of forgotten fields, it rustles the leaves of trees alone on crags and hillocks)

Errrrrrggggghhhhhh.  Whhyyyyyyy havvvvve I beeeen awaaaaaken?

(The wind whips branches and blasts the seas, birthing fearsome waves).

Yesssssssssss.  Yessssssss!  Commmmmmeeee clooooooosssssser!

(The wind tears at the shore, battering cliff faces.)

I cannnnnn smellll yourrrrrr feeeeeeeaaaarrrr!

(The wind howls through ancient, black forests like the baying of starving wolves.)

I CANNNNNNN TASSSSSSSTE YOURRRRR SOOOOOOOOOOUULLLL!

(The wind slices through flesh, chilling to the bone.)

Yesssss! Feeeeeeeed meeeeee!!  FEEEEEEEEED MEEEEEE!!!

(The wind uproots trees, smashes buildings as though they were straw.)

IIIII LIIIIIIIIIVE AGAAAAAAINN!

(Just as it came, the wind dies, and vanishes.  But it waits and will be born again.  So it is now, so it has always been.  The wind is forever.)