I look out at the crawling mass of clouds in the quiet grey fog of a morning in Webland. Beneath me is the soft comforting solidness of my word cloud cradling me, as I lay on my back. Occasionally, I speak another word and with the slow, curl of a puff of smoke it appears and floats down to join the mass of words I am riding on.
I lay there watching each mass of cloud floating past. These other clouds are the glimpses of the other users writing their own 750 words every day. Each cloud has is own shape. I see in one the shape of a huge pirate ship, its impressive great sails fully extended, all formed from words.
“Billow, big, bright white”
Other words form into planks of long dark wood, that run along the ships hull and through the gaps between the letters, perched on a scribbled banister sits a hamster.
The fog parts and another form floats past in the shape of a Zen garden. A tranquil pool of water constantly fills with a trickling fountain of ‘what if’s and ‘buts’. At its side stands a pink flamingo. These shapes appear and disappear, floating into view through some thick cloud and just as quickly are gone again. I can sometimes make out the animals, but soon they are obscured again and claimed by the fog.
The skeleton wolf has re-appeared and sits beside me eating a meal of words describing dead fish. I tried creating milk and meat before, but it seems to like fish the best.
I trace my hands along the scars of on my burned staff along the charred wooden skin, and when I close my eyes and see the moments of my journey these last 9 months scroll past.