Question

on evening on my terrace script​

Answer 1

Answer:

I was on the terrace. The setting sun splashed an orange hue across the earth below. The cool breeze sighed peacefully. The chirruping birds scurried to their homes nested in verdant trees. The terrace overlooked a mottled array of buildings and roads sewn onto a barren landscape.

The winds suddenly altered course, forcefully throwing open a window. I fell into an enticing line of thought. “How would it feel”, I mused, “to stand as tall as this”. I looked down at the minute, benign buildings and little insignificant ants in clothes scampering up and down, moiling insignificantly. I could dictate the rules of the game. Put this fellow in jail, lock this other guy up, marry this fellow off to the other girl, put this girl in that apartment, flick this apartment out of existence, and arbitrate the flow of money. Like SimCity. A reckless despot who could turn people out of cities on a whim, bring down and erect structures, colossal structures, at the click of a mouse. The very thought of being an irrationally powerful force much, much above measly pecuniary considerations sated me with such mirth that I roared with laughter. An impalpable, fleeting feeling of absolute power seized me with its strong, bare hands. I roared till laughter was reduced to an apprehensive, nervous whimper.