Lying down hand in hand with a boy with no other intention except to gaze up at the passing shapes above, we used to hypothesise and ponder; were they strong enough to walk on?
A few years passed and I was up among them, looking at them. I saw cotton valleys and mountains; a whole magical world made of white and I wondered; was there anything more beautiful?
Now, glancing up I see rain coming and when up among them, looking through them, all I see is my tomb thirty-five thousand feet below; is there a death more horrible?
For Friday Fictioneers. No dark fiction from me this week; just stark, cold reality. Hope you like it anyway.