The storm brings peace. The calm of the weather season is changing. We count the changing time by storm. World runs, like clockwork. Three dimensional. Like our world. Or so we think. The ancient humanoids strongly believed that Terra was spherical. We accept that as fact today. But time is the peculiar fifth dimension that they didn’t understand. Time moves in all directions. Across all the dimensions, moving in and out as it pleases. Time could be going backwards somewhere else for all I know. I ponder over this quite regularly. After all, there really isn’t much else to do. Other than survive, of course. And all the classes I’m required to take. But time is insignificant with only your thoughts to entertain yourself.

It’s the flooding season. For those of you who don’t know what that is, and I suppose I don’t blame you, the water levels rise and swallow Terra, covering up all land masses until it is only ocean, bleak, turbulent, churning waters. The ancients called this season Autumn or Fall, whatever that’s supposed to mean. 

The Tribe of Blood lives under the seas during this time. Adapted to breathing the oxygen in the water, like the ancient creatures that are so very few in number. I wouldn’t know what it’s like down there. I am of the Bone Clan, the clouds are our refuge in the wet season. Held together using advanced alchemestry, we live high above the water. I can only gaze down and wonder what it’s like in the darkness, thousands of meters below me. In fact, I’m laying at the very edge of my homecloud, staring at the small cluster of boat houses that the Mind People use in the floods. What it must be like to live in those worlds. Even though we live together most of the year, it’s still strange to imagine the different lifestyles during the floods. It seems silly when I think about it. Why do I care what another group of humans decides to do in this weather? I hear about it all the time during the afterfloods anyway. Lost in my mind, yet again. 

The tinge of the burnt sienna sun creeps higher signaling the sun dial on my front lawn to be noon. My second half of school (prison sentence) starts in twenty minutes. How I wish I could stay here for a bit longer, with the cooling sea breeze blowing through my hair. The calming scent of semi-saltiness with a hint of sweetness. Oh well. Another time perhaps.