Weatherman (freewrite)

I thought they said the sun would shine today.

Why do they even bother? The sun didn’t shine, the crowds didn’t come to the park, and there are easter eggs going soggy in the bushes.

I’ve got a raincoat, but I left it in the park yesterday when it was sunny. I used it as a blanket while I stretched out on the grass. I could smell my skin in the heat, like new plasticine. There were little creatures in the grass, you could only see them if you stared for a while. They must have crawled over me, the tickling was awful.

The park was pretty much deserted, apart from me and the bugs and the sun. As I lay there, a cloud took shape overhead. It took a while, I don’t know how long, but eventually I decided that it looked like a small man, hunched and spindly. He was laying in the sky, stuck to the ceiling like I was pinned to the floor. I thought he might have stopped to brush a fly from his face, but the motion was a slow one. The movement deformed him, and I had to look away.

Far away, I saw children playing football–three-and-in was it–by a set of white goalposts. If I had to chance at guessing the distance now, i’d say they were probably 358 metres from me. I counted the seconds between seeing the punt and hearing the sound. I could be wrong. They were young, and one of them was fat. One of nature’s goalies, I remember thinking.

I leaned back, resting on my elbows and staring out across the park. Gradually, I noticed the birds singing all around me. Low hoots of pigeons mixed with high vacuous tweets from some other birds. One warbling, happy sound I remember in particular. It sounded like laughter. It sounded like the bird that made that sound was watching me there, covered in bugs, my back stained from a sweaty coat, my eyes watering a little against the sun.

I hoped that the cloud-man had repaired himself. I hoped that he had brought himself back together and regained his shape. I looked up; a giant purple disc of cloud occluded the blue sky and the man was being pushed farther, out of shape and edged towards the horizon. As the first drops hit my face, I heard the bird again, only this time it wasn’t laughing. This time I understood, and leaned back to rest my head. By the time the first peals of thunder echoed across the park, my eyes were closed.


About mudwords

Please feel free to point and laugh.
This entry was posted in Prose fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Weatherman (freewrite)

  1. Artswebshow says:

    this is brilliant

  2. trisha says:

    Very beautifully written piece. Loved reading it to the end.

  3. Ji says:

    I posted the awards for May.
    please feel free to take what you want from there.
    Happy Monday!

  4. brian says:

    wow. nicely done…enjoy that rest…thunderstorms console me..

  5. Artswebshow says:

    you and your muse were rocking in unison on this writing

  6. moondustwriter says:

    Nicely done. All in all a typical day in the park


  7. Ji says:

    vivid images,
    you write very well!

  8. Ji says:

    you are given three award from the post from me.
    thanks for the invaluable support!

  9. Jingle says:

    another poetry award 4 u.
    have a beautiful day!
    I appreciate your uplifting comments and handsome spirits.

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