The Boy and his Clouds

The Boy(lowercase he/him/his if talked about in pronouns)
The nameless man(Him, He, His)
The Clouds

A drabble done in theology class:

The Boy and the Clouds sit waiting together. An awkward truce settles, the Boy tolerant, the Clouds humble and doleful. The Boy shivers, chilled to the bone as he sits on frozen cement stairs. The Clouds quake in their cold and merciless atmosphere. Hours pass. The Boy grows restless. The Clouds begin to rile themselves, rolling and turning in anxious anger as their Boy say alone, waiting, waiting, waiting.

The skies grow dim, darker and darker by the moment.

The Clouds despise Him for hurting their Boy. They reach out their arms to their Boy. They cradle him from a distance in an effort to quell his sorrow.

The rain caresses the Boy's face, his shoulders, his legs. The Boy turns his face to the Clouds letting their sorrow become his own. His tears are lost in the torrent but nonetheless, they fall.

Behind the Boy there is a rustle of fabric, the slip of plastic against rusted metal, the snap of sprigs clicking into place. And suddenly the sky becomes red above the Boy. The water in his hair runs down his neck, his back, and pools on the step where he sits.

The Clouds tried harder in vain to reach the boy. A Wind whipped at His cloths and His cigarette falls to the sodden ground. He stands in the downpour, holding the umbrella firmly over His boy.

The Boy notices Him, but ignores His presence for a while, until he feels certain He will stay until an agreement is reached. The Boy stands and faces Him. Slowly, Deliberately, he takes hold of the umbrella and moves it back until both were shielded by its dry embrace.

Now, as equals, the two men scrutinize each other, searching for something. Neither seem happy. But neither seem angry. The Boy isn't sure if it is the calm before the storm. He thinks the storm has passed. As the Boy looks at Him, he feels reassured. The Boy has always been a coward, but now he is brave.

The Boy takes hold of His jacket and reaches up to place a faery's kiss upon His lips. He allows it. He knows it will be his last.

The moment passes and the Boy is once again fearful; but he smiles at Him. Smiles because he knows it is over. Deliberatly, Slowly, the Boy pushes the umbrella back to Him, shielding him from the frenzy of the belligerent downpour. He gives the Boy a hard stare, a steady, questioning gaze.

The Boy turns. The Boy leaves. And the Boy does not look back. The Boy is brave once again.

He watches His Boy fall and looks to the jubilant Clouds. They mock and laugh because they are happy now. They are not alone.

And He cries for His Boy. He waits for His Boy. He waits, and He waits, and He waits.