— Fiction —
Sun, Apr 5, 2020, 6:23 PM
I can’t quite recall how I got here, but I know I don’t want to be here. I don’t like it here. It feels dreary here. The cloud’s eye above me looks doleful and pale. Their white fluffy intricate pattern looks dull and grey. The clouds are crying. And I am glad for the tears because they wash the bleak trail of sullenness away.