Tour of the Storm

The only white cloud floated above the storm, uncontaminated, was trying to talk some senses into the storm.

"Hail, storm. Dissect yeself and return to mother nature. Ye shall not destroy lands, nor flood rivers, nor collapse houses, nor harm lives."

"Piss off, skinhead. Mind ya own business. My power is strong and ye is belittled. Run along now, before ya can. Ye cannot possibly stop me. Hell, I cannot even stop myself. It comes as an orgasm, and I don't want to loss the feeling of being in reign."

"Alas! Ye should know what ye would be after this. Why wouldn't ye stop while ye had a chance? Before disappeared into thin air?"

"Quiet! Ya voice is sickening me. I'm going to make a legacy of myself. I'm going to leave my footprints among the people. They like writing about me and my companions, so I'm giving them something to write about. There seems to be more brilliant writing when we devastate them even more. In a way, they asked for it," thundered the storm. "Come down, little cloud, let me give you a tour."

The cloud hesitated. The pull from storm was strong.

"What ya waiting for, little cloud?"

"Ye promise my return?"

"I've not said that. The great storm won't promise that herself."

"Then this is my becoming?"

"Yes, this is ya becoming, now come down, little cloud, join us."

The cloud descended from the height and reached into the eye of the storm. Melted.