Toronto, by the setting sun (9 images and 2 stories of skybound struggles)
A serpentine figure emanated from the setting sun. Its’ jaws separating to rival the width of the horizon itself.
It slithered East.
The calm blue enclave it bore down on shriveled in ignorance. The snake let out a billowing hiss, a venomous storm cloud that leveled an obscure town in the distance. Eglinton, they might’ve called it. The fiery cumulation sped away from its’ maker, upon the cobalt innocence. It burst across the sky, an electric and furious sound buzzing around it. As the concoction gathered pace, the sound gathered madness. A frenetic madness that promised fiery red skies with every note. Every second that the sound vibrated the surrounding air, visions of razed heavens flashed across the eyes of everyone whose ears were cursed with the damning melody. Hell was tearing across the heavens, leaving behind only the ashes of wings, and the memory of glory.
But in that final moment; when it seemed all hope was in abandon, when the last wall of paradise seemed poised to crash down, when it seemed lost, when the sands fell short, a breeze blew.
A breeze that whistled into a wind, that grew to a gust, that cascaded into a cloud, that struck up a storm, for a moment in time. It towered above the streets it only just swept through, hunched over by the weight of its fate.
It rose, and for a moment split seventeen ways, the electric rage and the monolithic hum danced as music.
Then. for an eternity that lasted a blink, it was silent.
The clash sent out a thunderous boom across the land sea and sky. A thunder that brought no rain. A thunder that shattered walls and window panes. A thunder that confused the sky, blurring everything above.
When the lines once again settled into their honest places, this is what was seen.
A brave new storm, folding over itself, pained by its impending death, comforted by the survival of the naive behind it. The fallen western landscape, ablaze with anguish. The serpent eyeing its failure, letting out a horrendous screech. The eastern promise, blue, unbroken.
It slithered East yet.
The parked cars were oblivious to the battle raging in the background.
Over the course of the struggle, Scary cloud had grown in size and courage, its eyes blazing and tail fluffing to the size of a building. In a show of contempt for Man cloud it wielded it’s tamest (yet most intelligent) of weapons, the little feared Dolphin cloud, with flippers of doom and blowhole of injustice.
Man cloud had little choice but to retaliate, reaching deep into his arsenal and emerging with the infamous Bunny-rabbit cloud, holding it by its cottonball tail and aiming the little button nose at the heart of the beast ahead, unwavering. With the setting sun at his back, Man cloud lashed out with what he assumed to be his final move.
What happened in the following moments was the filling of legend, the stone of mountains.
The teeny tiny plane to the left didn’t know what it was flying into.