A Conversation With Clouds
A Tale of Utter Nonsense
My mind drifted to strange things as I stared into a dull pink haze. The lights danced in my irises, glowing in cyclical prismatic patterns. I’ve been here before. I turn and notice a gloomy apparition, flowing like oil. It creeps, slow at first, twisting and flowing with no urgency, only inevitability. I had hardly noticed how close it was before it suddenly consumed me in a creamy substance. Maroon and indigo, like thick oil paint. I’ve gotta get this stuff off me, before the thief comes back and steals the thoughts from my head.
I rinsed the last locks of hair and made way to the meadow, dead leaves crinkling under my shadow. Somebody there must know what’s going on. It wasn’t long before the cracks in the façade started peeking out of the ripped corners of the walls. Flashes of static purple that ricochet like thunderbolts, but they cut right through me. It seems I was able to quell the fear, but it may just have been a warning attack. Send out the expendables first, before returning with a force tenfold in tenacity and vigor. They’ve been stabbing at my mind the entire evening. Scoundrels and thieves, the lot of them. There could be thousands. I must seek asylum in the meadow.
The crooked trees began to loom over my head. I investigated the woods and saw cold dead faces. They looked emotionless and sad at the same time. How could this be? What have I gotten myself into? I walked to the village green, as it were, when I noticed a large burning tree. As I looked around, I realized I was not alone. Dread filled my heart as I noticed naked shuffling bodies in the dark. I turned around and looked right into the wild eyes of a woman. She was moving slowly, as if trapped in a bubble. Everyone was moving this way. Dancing in slow-motion, the flames of the burning tree licking at their heels as they hopped and stomped on a slower wavelength. I need to get out of here. Something is wrong.
I made for the brushes, the only sound to be heard other than my breathing being the footsteps nearing closer behind me.
I didn’t get far before I ran into more trouble. I barely noticed where I was going and by the time I looked down it was too late. The goddamn miscreants stole the gravity. I should have known they would return with something far more sinister. Yet their purpose still eluded me.
I needed to clear my head. My pursuers had lost interest and began to sleepily retreat back to the wilderness. But I wasn't quite safe yet. I needed to find where the thief went. I wonder if the clouds know.
“Um excuse me, Mr. Cloud?”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Wait.”
“What.”
“Oh dear.”
“I believe he was talking to me.”
“Not everyone is trying to talk to you. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m sure a lowly cirrus like you gathers as much eyes as a stallion of a stratocumulus such as myself.”
“And now you bring that into it again.”
“Um, excuse me, clouds. I’m awfully sorry, I wasn’t aware that all clouds have the same name. I only meant to speak to one of you.”
“Very well. You may speak to me.”
“He may not. Please speak to me, lad.”
“Don’t be a fool. I’m the one you want to talk to.”
“May I please just get your names so I can expedite this dialogue.”
“Clyde.”
“Clyde.”
“Clyde.”
“You’re all named Clyde.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“That does not help me, unfortunately.”
“We used to have three names.”
“Yeah, but two of them were stolen.”
“Sad state of affairs.”
“Wait. Did you say they were stolen?”
“Yes. Just last night actually.”
“Somebody also stole my thunder.”
“Yeah somebody stole my thunder as well.”
“That one was probably you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You're a liar and not remotely a gentleman.”
“No you're a liar.”
“Why are you always trying to steal my thunder.”
“Enough, both of you. As the original Clyde, I will speak henceforth for the group. This gimmick has clearly been exhausted.”
“Um, okay.”
“I know what you seek.”
“You do.”
“The thieves. And I know where they went.”
“Please tell me.”
“I will, but first, you must answer my riddle.”
“Really.”
“I like riddles.”
“Seems kinda childish don’t you think. I don’t see why you can’t just tell me.”
“False. They are clever and people love them.”
“The meadow. They fled to the meadow.”
“Shut up. I told you not to talk anymore.”
“Meadow. Got it. Thanks.”
“Why do you never let me tell the riddle?”
“I like talking to him. I don’t want him to leave.”
“It’s wrong to keep him trapped like this.”
“It’s what the thieves want.”
“Look, I’m sorry about the riddle but I have to be off. As you just said, the thieves have a good enough head start anyhow. Goodbye Clydes.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Oh dear. Not again.”
What a bizarre experience. But at least now I know where I need to go. I look towards the horizon, beckoning me like a familiar face. My mind drifts to strange things as I stare into a dull pink haze. The lights dance in my irises, glowing in cyclical prismatic patterns.
The crooked trees begin to loom over my head. I investigate the woods and see cold dead faces. They look emotionless and sad at the same time. How can this be? What have I gotten myself into? I walk to the village green, as it were, where I notice a large burning tree. As I look around, I realize I am not alone. Dread fills my heart as I notice naked shuffling bodies in the dark. I turn around and look right into the wild eyes of a woman. She is moving slowly, as if trapped in a bubble. Everyone is moving this way. Dancing in slow-motion, the flames of the burning tree lick their heels as they hop and stomp on a slower wavelength. I need to get out of here. Something is wrong. I make for the brushes, the only sound to be heard other than my breathing being the footsteps nearing closer behind me.
I need to clear my head. My pursuers have lost interest and begin to sleepily retreat back to the wilderness. But I’m not quite safe yet. I need to find where the thief went. I wonder if the clouds know.
“Um excuse me, Mr. Cloud.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Wait.”
“What.”
“Oh dear.”
I then proceeded to revisit my conversation with these clouds. You see, I believe I may have truly upset the one called Clyde by refusing to listen to his riddle, and I put it upon myself to fix the error of my ways, for I really do enjoy riddles, and it was merely my haste in the matter at hand that caused me to so rudely brush him off. And so we continued our conversation, only this time I possessed the wisdom of hindsight.
“I know what you seek.”
“You do.”
“The thieves. And I know where they went.”
“Please tell me.”
“I will, but first, you must answer my riddle.”
“Really.”
“I like riddles.”
“Seems kinda childish don’t you think. I don’t see why you can’t just tell me.”
“False. They are clever and people love them.”
“The meadow. They fled to the meadow.”
“Shut up. I told you not to talk anymore.”
“Meadow. Got it. Thanks.”
“Why do you never let me tell the riddle?”
“I like talking to him. I don’t want him to leave.”
“Actually I would like to hear it. I think I just figured out how to escape this peculiar dilemma.”
“Wonderful. Okay. There are thirty cows in a field, and twenty-eight chickens. How many didn't.”
“Can you repeat that.”
Thirty cows in a field, and twenty ate chickens. How many didn't.
“Oh. I thought you said twenty-eight, not twenty ate. Terribly sorry about that. So the answer is ten then.”
“Good show, congratulations.”
“I think we should tell him now.”
“Yes we should.”
“What should you tell me.”
“The thieves have stolen time. You’ve been stuck in an eternity for a while, and they’ve likely stolen everything at this point. There’s nothing for you out there. I’m afraid you’re going to have to remain in this loop or die.”
“Wait. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. I’m trying to find the thieves.”
“Yes. In the one place they aren’t.”
“Why the pink meadow.”
“They insisted on it.”
“Are you really clouds.”
“We are not.”
“What are you.”
“Something else.”
“Tell me.”
“We cannot.”
“Why.”
“Because you would not be able to understand.”
“What kind of trickery is this.”
The clouds dissipate into the air. I look around and the sky begins to swirl in a garish maroon and indigo pattern. Their presence has returned. I look up and I know I have been forsaken. The cream crawls up my spine, through my fingers, in my nose and eyes, until I have no senses left. The brain has become secondary to the presence. I give it full control.
I look at myself in the mirror and I see somebody I used to know. Somebody a little more naive, and optimistic, looking back at a face more weary, with darker eyes. I feel the presence trying to steal my thoughts, but I won’t let it. I can’t. Yet still I walk back into the meadow. And after several steps towards the light I notice the faces around me begin to laugh. They know I am about to be doomed like them. They dance and laugh in revelry as their skin glistens in the fire. My hazy eyes look toward the flaming tree and I see the form of a woman. She has brought me here. The people have stopped dancing. I am ready to join them.
