And we talked

Hues

The clouds marched towards the city centre exactly where the clinic of Mark Dawson lay, nestled between a pharmaceutical store and a paint shop, the clinic never had an aura of itself, not even when it used to be the only shop selling guns in the late 18th century, one could have associated Mark with everything other than a gun.

I’m Mark Dawson.

A chilly gale blew past me, a courier of the heavenly clouds, thy messengers. The coldness had grown exponentially, its hue had encapsulated all of the vicinity, I sat by the window looking at the shades that had formed with, the textures that arose and minds it changed. I dazed at the rain, my gaze aimlessly followed the raindrops that cluttered into the ground, making a soft soothing symphony, it was as natural as it could get, a few things cluttering into each other and producing a mellow yet intristinically beautiful tune. I could feel my ears perched out, gallant, not at ease but at guard to catch any change in the timber of the soothing tune. The rain fell coldly and freely upon the paved road, I could see people hurrying past me, bellowing at the rain. The restaurant that had opened a few days earlier, for whose inauguration I had given a small talk was bustling with people, talking impatiently and hurrying at conversations, some I saw were gaping with an awe at rain just like me (something we all do).

I remember myself standing in front of odd 100 people in the restaurant, most of whom were invited guests. The words still played out in my ears, I heard them in between the endless murmur of rain, beating of my shallow heart, yanking horns of the bikes speeding past and conjunctions I could not figure out.

“We all eat, not a day goes by without us eating. At least I eat everyday” I said, expecting people would laugh, but what I was met with were cold and ruthless sterns and relaxations of pricked ears. “How many of you know what constitutes hunger?” I could see blank faces comprehending my speech. “Hunger constitutes of some neurological signals, never mind. But is hunger good? Sure, hunger is. How would we eat if we don’t feel hungry at all? But isn’t hunger cruel too? Many people die out of starvation, as we speak many people would have slept off without something seeing off their hunger. By this speech I did not want to flinch you, but I wanted you to see the duel nature of existence that persists in the universe.” My speech indeed was met with applause, and the dinner that I had was particularly refreshing for I needed not to pay for it.

The rain had increased; the structures far away that I laid my eyes on were no longer distinguishable, but swinging blanks, pixels on a dead monitor, conjuring any anomalous shape.

Occasional breeze endazalled me with tiny raindrops, that vaguely resembled the shape of tears. I remember how quiver I was when I fathomed what caused the clouds to cry. My mom gave a better reason than the science. She held me close and pointed to the toy I was planning to give away, “why are you giving them away”

“I have lots.”

“Such are clouds; they have lots of it, lots. That’s why they give us a bit of it.”

That was when I understood why science could never explain causation.