I basically want you to picture a tall, slim figure hidden in shadow. Clearly defined by a top hat and crackling wrists as both hands’ fingers meet just below the chin in a frowning contemplation.
“I’ve been expecting you,” are naturally the concealed character’s first raspy words. A soft chuckle erupts from chapped lips.
“Have you ever decided that your 7:00-3:00 job and the dishes you left from the night before were not all that you had to talk about? The kelpie snoring and belching, curled up on the rug behind you and the raging air conditioner on this Autumn day (I think I have a fever) offer a pallet too satisfying to be kept to yourself.
Have you ever had one of those days where you want to vent your life story to the elderly woman who passes you in the car park but think she may not be the hugging type and the toddler dragging her along with his ice-cream smeared face may have commandeered her full attention, and so slimp to your Camry thinking, ‘I’ll tell the clouds.’
Have you ever felt completely content with your existence and yet feel there is an entire world going on in your head that is constantly begging to make you uncomfortable?
You are not a blog. You are not a reader. You have become my clouds.”
The figure bows deeply. The top hat crumples to the floor as the sharp nose in the shadows is pressed to the carpet. She melts in a puddle and is gone.