The new scroll was soaked. After it's dry from being wet, It feels like it could easily tear. But instead, it feels stained and ugly.
The stream isn't guided by its own force, It is driven with angst and pain. If you listen carefully, You can hear it try to grab the riverbank.
The reel needs to be fixed, It keeps playing the worst parts. The wheel spins infinitely, For now, no gold threads.
Don't go outside, It's much too dangerous. We've lived here for generations. The sun comes out eventually.