24 April 2012
The sky has always been like this since the beginning of our history; endless dark masses of churning cloud, thunderous booms causing quakes around the globe, the scattered brisance of constant lightning, and of course the rain, the terrible rain. Our skin may have grown tougher, more immune to it in the recent strain of our species, but with our exponentially expanding scientific and civilisational advances we were becoming lazy, choosing to clothe ourselves rather than endure the pain for later generations. They theorized that if it continued we would revert back to the dark days of the dawn of our species within just 3 or 4 cycles.
From a young age I was always fascinated with the sky, always wondering what it was, how it came to be. I found it beautiful and compelling, as well as frighteningly ominous. My parents, before they left, often became agitated when they found me outside watching near one of the epicentres of the storm, my skin sizzling in the rain. I likened it to some disturbed living being, crying acid tears and yelling sonic booms. The beast would often appear in my dreams too; I would be out by my usual spot, simply staring until eventually I would draw closer to it, or perhaps it to me? I stretch out my arm as the booming becomes almost deafening. My fingers are so close I can almost touch it. Then the dream cuts into reality, and I am a million arm stretches away. I wondered what it felt like, was it soft? Could you even touch it at all?
Our science took a huge leap forward the day the object fell from the sky...
Weathered Worlds: 1/10 • Opuss № I