A fierce battle of the cold front and the hot army is upon us - fallen soldiers descend as torrential rain.

The opposing masses approach us at break neck speed, positively churning with rage and battle lust. The pressure and tension is tangible, rising by the second as the two sides come ever closer to their éclat.

Our side is heavy with anticipation, on an unstoppable course of action, as is the other. The buzzing energy is drawing us to one another ever more quickly. There have been many, nay an infinite number of such battles, never resulting in anything but fallen soldiers, followed by an empty battlefield.

Nevertheless, we shall continue to meet one another headfirst, battling, falling, winning, loosing. What does it matter in the end? All comrades must fall, some just do it earlier than others. My fellow fighters are above, under, to my sides, swarming with the buzz of anticipation, and I buzz along with them, quivering with the energy of the battlefield.

(Based on a former tweet)