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I’ve always wondered what touching a cloud would be like. When I was little, I had fantasies of living up in the clouds. I would tell my mother: “When I grow up, I’m going to live in a giant white mansion on the biggest and highest cloud ever!” She would smile slightly and pat my head, oblivious to my eyes that would well up with tears of hurt. Then she’d walk stiffly away in her newly-ironed cream-coloured trousers, to call a friend who’s more interesting, to send e-mails off to her clients.
My favourite pastime was lying in the backyard, the scratchy yellow grass lightly touching my back, and gazing up at the white cotton clouds above me. I would see pictures in them, and once I thought I saw the rugged, smiling face of my father, but when I grew older I knew it was wishful thinking.
When thunderstorms came, I’d ignore my self-obsessed mother and lie in the rain that pounded onto Earth. Everything would drop from my mind except for the clouds’ gloomy faces. I wouldn’t even flinch when lightning cracked nearby. It was just me and the clouds.
Now staring at a grey-speckled ceiling, I was anywhere but in the sky floating along with my friends. A monitor was beside me, and I watched the red line move up and down. Suddenly, I seemed to lose my breath for a second and the red line skyrocketed on the screen, proof the surgery hadn’t gone well. I didn’t see it come back down for my eyes had already drooped closed.
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I don’t believe in heaven, I’m going to be a cloud. Floating by, watching the world run its course, unaware of its loss—me. The one who made a tiny difference to the world, even minute, the one who didn’t have anyone beside her when she passed.
And then, overwhelmed by the evils inside my body, my heart beats one last time.
Spoiler
I’ve always thought of what touching a cloud would be like. When I was little, I had fantasies of living up in the clouds. I would tell my mother: “When I grow up, I’m going to live in a giant white mansion on the biggest and highest cloud ever!” She would smile slightly, pat my head and go to her more important issues, a bigger priority than her only child.
My favourite pastime was lying in the backyard, ignorant of the yellow, dead grass and examining the clouds above me. I would see pictures in the clouds, and once I thought I saw the rugged, smiling face of my father, but when I grew older I knew it was wishful thinking.
When thunderstorms came, I’d ignore my self-obsessed mother and lie in the rain that pounded onto Earth. Everything would drop from my mind except for the clouds’ gloomy faces. I wouldn’t even flinch when lightning cracked nearby. It was just me and the clouds.
I don’t believe in heaven, I’m going to be a cloud. Floating by, watching the world run its course, ignorant of its loss—me.
And then, overwhelmed by the evils inside my body, my heart beats one last time.
My favourite pastime was lying in the backyard, ignorant of the yellow, dead grass and examining the clouds above me. I would see pictures in the clouds, and once I thought I saw the rugged, smiling face of my father, but when I grew older I knew it was wishful thinking.
When thunderstorms came, I’d ignore my self-obsessed mother and lie in the rain that pounded onto Earth. Everything would drop from my mind except for the clouds’ gloomy faces. I wouldn’t even flinch when lightning cracked nearby. It was just me and the clouds.
I don’t believe in heaven, I’m going to be a cloud. Floating by, watching the world run its course, ignorant of its loss—me.
And then, overwhelmed by the evils inside my body, my heart beats one last time.
