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I found an old journal with this in it. It's probably a vocabulary story.

A pulse of life was quelled in the massive cloud-tearing tower by the darkness that seemed to inhabit every inch of space. Thunder took over the tower and shook it through its foundation, and rain battered the walls like the darkness pounded the sanity out of the being's mind. How can he be expected to prevail when such an aberration replaced his mind? It was his own fault, I suppose. The syndrome followed the symptoms as that point in time followed the previous point. It was de facto his decisions that chained him to his fate. Is this the ending point of all the malcontents? Then again, would they still believe that there is an ending point where contentedness is found?
A cool sensation spread and disappeared on the man's forehead. His awareness turned to the ceiling where he could see a glimmer disappear only to feel the same coolness on his forehead again. His senses awoke, and his thoughts obsessed over the refreshing feeling like one who was once deaf now taking in every mellifluous note of the human voice. Before his celebration could turn to hedonism, the image of the man in the corner of the darkness replaced his sensual awakening.