Goaricon

It was midnight in the middle of the day. The clouds had swallowed up a blue sky and had in return spat out a pithy black husk that germinated, polluting whatever once was cheerful with a dark semblance and a musky, cloying smell One of rot. I turned my eyes heavenward, shocked into silence as the disease spread its way, muddying the once beautiful sky. Everyone seemed to pause, a pause that seemed to have only been rehearsed, heard only through hushed whispers as everyone decided when to make their final move. They stopped. Grandfather stopped. Irina did not stop. I did not stop. The sleek and sensual steel of the clock tower had los