It was not
without reason that Lucinda was worried about me venturing out into the open
air. The sky overhead was disquieting to say the least, and a good many people
were worried about exposing themselves to it, though news reports assured the
public nobody had been struck ill because of the sky. Yet, as an overcast sky
can leave a person brooding and depressed, so this sky left everyone who saw it
feeling ill inside, as though there was something terribly wrong in you and in
the world around you, and everyone would soon suffer for it.
Had someone
sliced open the heavens and spilled their blood into the sky overhead, the
result would have been no less grotesque. Yet the discoloration was murkier
than blood could ever be, giving it the appearance of infection. If adjectives
such as sore and inflamed could apply to the air, they fit this sky.
The firmament
was imbued with a most horrific shade of scarlet from horizon to horizon,
punctuated here and there with a trace of orange, yellow and even green.
Nowhere was there a hint of blue. What few clouds formed in a summer Arizona
sky looked like bloated pockets of reddened pus. A red sun glared down by day,
and by night the stars bled mournfully while the moon glowered.
The sky was like
this the entire world round. Everyone had seen the images on television — the
sky over the Eiffel Tower, over Moscow, over the Forbidden City, over the
Himalayas, over Antarctica, over Machu Pichu. There were massive protests
around the globe, verging on riots. Environmentalists converged with religious
fanatics to proclaim the end was at hand. There was no disputing that humans
had made a mess of things. Even the President of Exxon-Mobile had to admit some
responsibility for the phenomenon.
While I did not
agree with Reverend Chassey over at the Holy Redeemer Church that the end-times
were here, it was quite clear we were heading for trouble. One look at the sky
was enough to assure you that a storm was forming, and humanity would be very
lucky if it survived once this tempest passed. It was a time of fearful
waiting, punctuated by outbreaks of panic and self-recrimination.
More later from PD Allen
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