Clouds so close you can touch them. And fast too. An off-black cotton candied balloon flowing overhead. Overtaking the previously white and blue polka dotted view. How swiftly thunder rolled in with the clouds.
A downpour and a fog. Rain smacking off hard cement, stone, and metal and glass alike, without prejudice in it's landing zone. Raindrop melody singing the earth's praises. The song and dance of storms has arrived at last.
We hope that the storm will wash away the disgrace, but it only takes the evidence. The feeling is ours to wash away however we can. No wind nor rain nor darkness of sky can eliminate memories. These memories outlast even time.
A new rain arrived, following a prophet. Adjudicator downpour. With it came penance, mercy, or judgement. Some couldn't tell the difference. All they cared about was watching the rolling black as the heavens swept over them. The rain washed away their sins. Be it by death or forgetfulness meant nothing. Two sides of the same coin. The arbiter became a god. The people became as husks. The clouds never ceased to escort storms to the source. Humankind boiled and bubbled as it does, but there was a subtle worship that twisted their simple, malleable minds.
And after the prophet was gone, we were left with no lesson learned, no solace, no matter taken. Disgrace persisted. Weather had lost. But it still came aplenty.
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