Journal 7: Pastiche

It was in that moment Votolom pondered Anger. Anger, the passionate wraith which spawned from deeply rooted trees. The rejected shade who resided in seemingly dormant mountains with only the smallest openings for it to escape. What did Anger care for protection, what force could dilute him? He perches atop the summit of his dark mountain. Perches calmly and patiently, hoarding his power until given the signal to release his raw energy. Been standing on that summit before it existed, before time ticked, before the very subjects he corrupted were born. She was liable to feel the intense heat of his incarnation at the least predictable time. She was jealous and nervous too. She sent in a friend to recommend a cure to his ailment, but she knew it was folly. There was no retardant or suit capable of withstanding his heat, and know living soul knew how to treat a victim of his wrath. He should be alright, the cure was simply control of oneself. He would not be subjected to the wraith's heat. He sincerely believed he could escape the flames. But she knew, and if she hadn't, the scorched spirits tarnished by his wrath would make it all too clear. Those who had nothing to do with the wraith's business would be affected through his most recent target. All he had to do was patiently sit and wait for an innocent bystander with blood to boil. Anger, that intense fire immune to water, was beginning to torch the town.

In order to parallel Hurston, I chose to focus on an abstract emotion which was generally immune to any logic or justice. Anger corrupts the least expecting, and there is no way to overcome it once you are overtaken. In addition to the sentence structure, anger was also personified as a wraith (vs. Hurston's bird) in order to display its magnitude.