The legends are true — after a bad storm, something always breaks through.
They drifted gently at first, beguiling, going nowhere and everywhere — without form, future, or past. We ran among them and laughed as they settled then melted in our hands.
Then everything changed. The skies darkened.
They shrieked and became monsters. We hid as they howled against windows until they slept.
If you’re caught, the legends say, you will be forgotten — even by time itself. So we tread carefully, gather what we can, and burn so we may dream. And in dreams feel the sun on our eyes again.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting these Friday Fictioneer Challenges.