Aesthetic short stories

the clouds are an ugly shade of gray

It was an over cast day, clouds crowding the sky and blurring together into white and gray hues, making an ugly shade of gray.

It disgusted her.

The smell was nauseating, that sick earthly smell that arises when it's about to storm. It made her want to vomit.

Why was today, of all days, that it had to rain? Why? Did some god up above order for the clouds to come together and block out the warm sun just to ruin her day? Did they command mother nature to summon the air to make a breeze that felt cold against her skin, and like a sharp unloving hand stroking through her hair?

It wasn't fair.

It was supposed to be sunny, bright blue skies stretched for miles. Birds chirping and flying, like something out of a child's book, or a perfect spring day.  But it wasn't. There was no sun to kiss her skin with warmth, to make the coldness go away, to tell her it's ok. The white fluffy clouds weren't there to look pretty, and entertain her with its shapes, as she guesses what each one resembled.

Rain drops fell down. Slow, then fast. Dampening everything it touched, drenching it with its cold.

Drops fell down onto her body, slowly soaking her clothes, it felt like a second skin as the cloth sticks to her body.

She stood at her mother's grave, the head stone becoming a darker shade of gray as the rain came down. And she could only think of one thing,

The clouds were an ugly shade of gray.