J.P. Farnsworth - 1. The Cloud

Yo, Diary!

So I'm, like, totally weirded out by this devastation I'm seein' all over the place. Last night I just wandered through the streets, lookin' for anyone to, like...uh, ya know...talk to? And there was, like, fuckin' no one, dude! I think I'm the only humanoid left on the whole fuckin' planet, man. And that's why I decided to start keepin' a diary, even though I always used to say that diaries are for, ya know, dweebs and weirdos. But since I'm all by my lonesome, well, I guess it don't matter none no more anyhow. 'Course, if I'd known what a way I have with, uh, ya know...words, then maybe I would've started writin' sooner.

So anyways, I'm lyin' in bed one night with this blazin' hot chick and we just had the most trippin' session ever. I finally roll over and say, "Wow! That was the most trippin' session ever, right?" And she says, "I've had better," but I know she's just mad 'cause I have a way of castin' a spell over her and she resents my powers.

Anyways, there's a sudden bright light outside and the whole fuckin' room just starts shakin' and shit. And then the night turns totally bright like daytime for a few seconds...then it sorta fades aways. I jump outta bed and break for the window, cuttin' my feet on broken glass ('cause, like, the fuckin' window totally shattered into a gabillion-jillion shatter, uh, shards), and look outside. Everything is quiet except for some car alarms down the street. And then I notice a huge cloud of...somethin' headin' towards me. I don't know what it is, but it kinda freaks me out, ya know, so I grab the chick and head towards the basement. She's strugglin' up a shit storm, tryin' to grab her clothes and stuff, but I manage to push her down into the basement and close the door before the cloud reaches us.

Then I notice somethin' seepin' under the door, like mist or smoke, and I look around for somethin' to cover our faces with. We ain't wearin' no clothes, see, and I don't keep garments in the basement. Then I spot some old curtains hangin' over a window near the back of the room and I rip 'em off the rod.

"Hold these over your face!" I shout. This time the chick (I never learned her name) doesn't argue and we crouch in the corner, holdin' the torn curtains over our faces and tryin' not to breathe.