The sky was trying really hard to smile when noon hit. Its pearly blue shine and wispy white blush almost convinced me of its contentment. I took off my headphones in hopes of hearing a hearty laugh. But instead I heard a sniffle. I turned off my ipod. The sniffling slowly but surely turned into gulping. The kind of gulping that hurts your throat and spreads a burning discomfort to the thickest of arteries. The kind of gulping that you can't stop once you start, and each time you gulp the fire just expands its territory. I looked up. The sky was trembling. Soon it drained its color and stopped clenching whatever it was that gave it that desperate hue of feigned revel. It tried its best to line its weary eyes with solar kohl. But before I knew it, a surge of shimmer streamed alongside my boots. I looked up again. The sky wouldn't stop. It was breaking down. It was breaking down light and sound. All I could do was look up. I was much too far from it to console it, and much to small for it to feel my hand on its shoulder. My neck started to hurt from looking up so much. I looked around and found more faces. My eyes froze when I felt the lachrymose wind that had caused it all – it was unnaturally icy, sucking the warmth out of every countenance that put up a fight. I looked down at my boots and kept walking.
