Victorian Writing

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! -- Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
As my eyes fixated on my creation, lightning flashed among the clouds and was followed by drumming thunder. Rain started to pound down on the roof above me, like stones falling from the sky, the sound becoming progressively deafening by the minute. The surrounding trees howled terrifyingly, swaying from side to side, with the immense winds almost uprooting them. Debris, pushed up by the winds, crashed through the house’s windows. Glass flew apart with piercing sounds, flying towards me, and with swift strokes, they sliced the flesh on my face. Blood oozed out of the cuts profusely and my face became gory with red. The weather became more ferocious and the chilly winds blew through the wrecked windows, down my spine. The teeth in my mouth started chattering from the chills and fear. The going-on outside the house was overwhelming, numbing my senses and movement.

“Oh Lord!” I said. “What have I done wrong?”

Lightning unrelentingly flashed and thunder still roared after. This time, it was even more earsplitting. I have incurred God’s wrath, our environment and surroundings are his domain, expressing his fury. I continued to look up at the sky above, questioning God. Every remark thrown at him caused the storm to intensify. Nevertheless, I did not hold back as the potent emotions within me spurred me let it all out.

Suddenly, there was a strident crash behind me, which could be heard among all the noises outside the house. I turned my head and the floor was covered in broken porcelain chips. My ancestral urn had fallen onto the floor. The floral velvet carpet that once lay colourful and vibrate, was now stained with fine gray ash and the blood dripping off my scared face. Persistent chilling winds blew through the window, and the ash flew with the gust and the room immediately became hazy.