6/8/14
sarah
A cloud ridged like a Portuguese man-o-war makes its stately way across the sky as the land bubbles away beneath it
the children shriek, scatter from their parents
screaming at them to run
mum and dad chuckle at their chubby-faced spawn
and press another slice of brie into their wet-wiped fingers
they never see the tentacles come drifting in
cruel and soft as rain
*