𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆
𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒅
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒕

a girl is sitting on a hill watching the shadow of a thunderhead wash over a near meadow. she can hear its murmur, smell its presence, feel the cold of the wind.

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔
𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚

the grass around her is in fast forward, growing and fruiting and dying and it's children growing anew. the sun and moon race above her, appearing as bands of light in the azure-slate gradient of heaven.

she can see mountains and cities and skyscrapers with their stellar shine rise and fall on the horizon. she can see fire and smoke and fireworks and steam engines flutter in the endless stretch.

𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕

but the storm cloud she's watching moves slowly, seemingly detached from the speed of everything else. every strike of it's lightning shredding what it touches to grain and noise.

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏
𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚

the storm cloud grew. it reached the mountains and the cities. it seemed to be approaching the girl's hill. she feels a chill.

she stood. she felt a sprig of fear. she feels like she needs to run away.

𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍.

𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒔

𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏

she stared at the sky. a flash appears-





ring ring

she awoke to the sound of an alarm. it's lunchtime in her office. she was glad no one caught her sleeping.

the papers she was sleeping on all spilled to the ground. she looked around her surroundings. people in phone calls, people leaving for food, people sleeping as well.

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮, she thought. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

she picked up her papers and stood.

she looked outside her window. there is a storm cloud in the horizon...