Death by cloud.

It seemed that sentence could be a title for a ridiculous novel or poem when I first heard them uttered.

Something written by some poor sappy, heartbroken person who was taken away in a cloud of morbid despair.

I could probably see myself reading those ridiculous words too at sometime way past midnight stuffed under three thousand blankets.

Now I can’t even think of reading at a time like this.

Because the cloud is killing me.

A giant cloud of poison funneled into this vault while I slowly breathe in the toxins.

Of course, if someone were to see me right now I would just look like a fish flopping about on a dry deck in the scorching sun.

But my mind is still pretty clear as the cloud begins to invade me. The cloud hasn’t killed my mind yet.

I can.. think and process how I’m dying.

I can still.. Think about me inhaling a cloud named death.

I can still see the cloud.

Wait, no I can’t, because my vision is gone.

Wait. Why is it gone?

Something about a cloud.

Death cloud.

Death.