The cloud started its life small:
a tiny grey blemish in the sky,
completely unaware of its own malignancy.
As it sat lonely at the backside of the mountain,
it became used to being fed by humans,
just like a butcher’s dog.
It never rained,
not even moved.
Just sat there all alone growing fatter and fatter,
darker and darker.
It became a dump for the side effects of civil life:
Junk data emissions,
advertising smoke screens,
and half-truths gasping for oxygen.
One day the cloud reached its maturity.
It began to lazily roll downhill, into the city,
where it filled each narrow alleyway,
Enveloping everything in a cozy warm grey fog.
The people welcomed the cloud,
embracing the ambiance.
Put to sleep by the fumes,
they all endured,
In their own luxurious privacy,
a silent, painless, soft strangulation.
The cloud made it’s way down to the harbor
where it was intimidated by the sea.
Feeling lonelier than ever,
it decided to linger in the city:
haunting the alleyways, playing with the street lights.
whether the people would ever return
George is an author, researcher, podcaster, chemist, molecular biologist and food scientist. You can follow him on Twitter @99blackbaloons , listen to his Spotify podcast George reads George, join his mailing list, or enjoy his books