Our years of experience have taught us that even in the worst blizzard, things will usually be fine if you just wait out the storm and play board games. And thanks to accurate news reports and lightning-fast communication, we know what to expect and what to do. But it wasn’t always so easy. A series of letters have just been released showing just how difficult and strange snowstorms were years ago. These letters are, of course, real. Why would we lie?
I hope this letter finds you well.
The sky is falling. My God, it’s horrible! The sky is falling all around and there is nothing we can do! I’ve tried desperately to repair the sky by throwing glue into the air, but the glue only made the sky angry. And I’m a miserably slow tailor, so by the time I had the needle and thread ready, the bit of sky I was to repair had already fallen to the ground.
Bertram and I have decided the very best thing to do is eat all of our milk and eggs and bread before the sky kills us all. We also extinguished the fire in our cottage for two reasons.
First, we don’t want to further attack and enrage the already falling sky with the lick of painful flames.
And second, Bertram says the angry sky would see the smoke and fire and thus aim directly for us. So we are now hiding from the falling sky. I am frightful.
I do hope you’re safe.
The fallen sky is now lying on the ground in wide clouds. The ground-clouds are dense, which explains why they had fallen, but what’s more curious is that there appears to be a new sky above. Perhaps the sky simply shed its old self, like a snake sheds its skin or a duck sheds its bill.
We have eaten all the bread, eggs, and milk in our cottage. This shouldn’t be of much concern as I will go to market as soon as I finish this letter.
Traveling across the fallen clouds will, presumably, be easy if not magical. I shall go barefoot, as these ground-clouds seem as welcoming as fresh cotton. The earth is covered in socks, my dear! What a dream! What a dream, indeed.
Oh sweet merciful lord! The ground clouds are not of any magic I should welcome! ‘Tis a cold and evil substance, like that of mashed yams soaked in old O'Malley's water spring. Traveling to market, a trek that takes no more than an hour on even rain-drenched days, has taken us a week and we are still miles away.
Now there is more sky falling, and falling with great ferocity. Yes, the sky had cracked and fallen again. 'Tis biblical!
Up ahead, there appears to be a patch of still water…a docile foot-sized pond for sure. Bertram has told me, and I agree, that we shall march through this waveless spot of rain because the splash shall be fun and will add some needed joy to this otherwise dreary day.
Besides, we are strong and hefty men. What tiny, thin puddle could possibly stop us!?!
The thin puddle was made of the devil’s skin for it sent us careening off course. I suspect this puddle of water has become literally petrified at the thought of the sky smothering the Earth.
Luckily the market is but ten miles away, and without boots or hats weighing us down, we should travel swiftly.
Once at the market, I shall buy you a music box as a trophy of our love!
After the spill on the devil’s skin, I now know what my leg bone looks like. It is a toothy white. Are bodies merely teeth? Fascinating!
So get this! The market was out of almost everything! There was but little selection left and so I returned home with turtle milk, raven eggs, and bread made of felt and salt.
Bertram says he can make a meal of this, but I’m less certain. Bertram has been wrong on several occasions this past week. For instance, when our feet and arms became nearly frozen from the ground-clouds, Bertram attempted to weave us suits of warmth out of the frosty clumps of clouds, as he scolded, “Stop shaking! It’s just sky cotton!”
It did not work out as intended. Ground-clouds become water when rubbed on skin. This must be a defense mechanism of some sort. I cannot help but wonder what ground-clouds transform into when rubbed on other surfaces such as dog fur or apples...
We thought wearing layers may help us keep warm during our trip home, but that was foolish (and selfish)l. The layers of fabric keep our warmth inside, which helps us, but does little to warm the outside air, and if we’re ever to win this war with the winter sky, then we need to all do our part and heat the atoms of air with our body.
So one layer it is. And our extra heat shall warm the world! We shall be human candles!
Heat seems to turn the fallen sky into some sort of ocean, and it’s easier to manage an ocean than a solid sky.
To help heat the air, Bertram and I are running in place and exerting ourselves by lifting weights and fighting trees. My heart and chest are sore, but methinks this is only because I love you so!
Sadly, the market was out of music boxes. So I got you a short length of string.
Ate the string. Needed food. Not feeling good. Bertram tried to eat my hair. The cold is hurting my thoughts and leg tooth. The sun has abandoned us. Making new sun out of fire and wood but it fell.
Find the sun. Hurry!
We have defeated the sky!
The doctor says I should be back in good health in a few short months! My heart, as it turned out, sided with the sky and tried to attack me! I fought back with a sharpened twig, and then everything becomes forgetful and wet.
I awoke in the hospital where Dr. Miller assures me I will be fine. I assume he taught my heart a lesson it shall never forget!
I’m not sure how Bertram and I defeated the sky, but surely our spears and spells sent the sky whimpering back towards the heavens.
I cannot wait to see you and tell you all about my fight with the sky.
Love has protected me and kept me alive!
You are my everything,
Bertram died when I ate him. Do tell his family how sorry I am.
WE KILLED THE SKY!!!
(NOTE: All letters were dated 1987)