Donald Provolone clasped his hands behind his back, allowing his feet to guide him to the massive window facing the street. Against the serene music emanating from his stereo, his footfalls were careful not to stir the air while traversing the polished hardwood floor. Outside, clouds stalked across the canvas of the sky, ushered along by the driving winds. Leaves whipped up in the fray, flailing desperately at the hands of the pounding current; Provolone smiled at the display. A slow sigh crept from his nose, and he relaxed his posture. Bending trees mercilessly, the windstorm thrashed away at the once serene neighborhood and stirred the overcast sky into an ominous tumult. Children previously at play fled to their homes under the threat of flying debris. It was nice to watch from a vantage point, as if the plans to dispel the serenity of the borough had been agreed upon by the powers that be, and he was chosen to witness the spectacle from a safe distance. Running a hand leisurely through his hair, the man slowly wrenched a corner of his mouth upward at that thought. His own plans had been set as well, and all that was left to him was to wait and watch as things played out.
Behind him, down the lengthy hall that stretched out of his study, a pair of servants whispered between themselves. Apparently discussing the evening’s repast, they made sure to keep quiet while within earshot of Provolone. He glanced casually over his shoulder and welcomed the disturbance; another source of commotion seemed appropriate against the violent gale outside. Turning back to the scene without, he watched as people across the street ran through their houses, poking into view as they sealed windows that had been open to allow the morning’s breeze to pass through. As they frantically dashed around their homes, Provolone took in the energy and heaved another tranquil sigh. His smile calmly widened across his face.
A branch, freshly plucked from its joint at the hip of an old birch, tumbled through the air and implanted itself into the window of Provolone’s neighbor. He chuckled at the display, slightly mortified that he found it so amusing. Beholding events that did not involve him was always entertaining to the man, even when they were not all that comical. He enjoyed being an outside party to most anything. Raging on, the wind lorded over the borough, keeping fat gray clouds at an ethereal arm’s length, ready in case anybody wished to tempt the power of the Fates. Provolone would have liked to pull a chair up to the window, but leaving the show for even an instant would ruin the entire effect. He found himself more satisfied to stay and witness the fury of the weather.
Like his own life, he would stand and wait as his ideas went forth and rendered the future he had decided. He took another long glance at the impaled window next door. His world would be run by forces that were outside him, yet bound by his order, and it felt good to know that things would play out to his will, his version of fate.