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Description
"I should have known," she whispered as she looked out the window at the cloudy day. It was afternoon, about two. Her cold hand raised and touched the glass gently, and she stared into the deep gray clouds, harboring tears that they surely had to release some day. Yet, for three days now, the storm clouds had loomed and never given an inch. So depressed they were, yet they were strong and never cried. Didn't fall to their knees with any claps of thunder, nor did they open their teary eyes to someone with a shock of lightning. They only loomed. She tilted her head as she watched those clouds, wondering when, or if, they would look, fall, and cry. She used to be scared to death of storms, but she had come to relate to them, and so had grown out of the fear. She took her hand from the glass of the window and clenched a fist, feeling on her palm the cold contrast of her fingers due to bad circulation. She had been told twice in the same day she needed to get it checked, but she saw nothing unusual. Her hands were always cold, everyone always shied away from her sharp touch. Like the chilled breeze that came with a winter storm. You wanted to hide from it, warm yourself up. It came and went. Some days her hands were warm, others freezing to the touch. Sometimes the wind was there, sometimes it wasn't. Walking into the family room, a decent-sized room in her home that harbored a shelf, a television, a chair, the desk and the desktop computer, and a radio. She stood by the small table that held the tank for her beta fish, looking inside the cylinder. "Two years old. You're gettin' up there, buddy." She smiled sadly, leaning down with her hands on her knees to peek into his world. The Spongebob-themed decorations were empty. Her eyes searched, suddenly nervous. It was a matter of time now. He was old, slow, and didn't eat very much. The behaviors of her fish were as important to her as her dogs, and the other people. She loved that fish, and she knew that day, when she found him dead, she would be devastated. Though, today was not that day. She found him hidden in the faux plants, and she heaved a relieved sigh. "You scared me, there!" She called to the fish, standing straight, watching as he swam to the top, circling like an excited dog as I fed him his pellet-type food. I sat on the ground before the tank and watched him eat, following the pieces that got heavy with water and began to sink, chasing it, taking it, and then spitting it out. "You just like racing the food, don't you?" She asked every time, since this was just his habit. She watched his jaws move as he chewed the pieces he actually did choose to eat, his eyes turning to her as he swam up to the glass and followed her every movement. She smiled and waved to him, before she plugged her headphones into the computer speakers and sat down to write this small piece of... whatever this is.

Description
"I should have known," she whispered as she looked out the window at the cloudy day. It was afternoon, about two. Her cold hand raised and touched the glass gently, and she stared into the deep gray clouds, harboring tears that they surely had to release some day. Yet, for three days now, the storm clouds had loomed and never given an inch. So depressed they were, yet they were strong and never cried. Didn't fall to their knees with any claps of thunder, nor did they open their teary eyes to someone with a shock of lightning. They only loomed. She tilted her head as she watched those clouds, wondering when, or if, they would look, fall, and cry. She used to be scared to death of storms, but she had come to relate to them, and so had grown out of the fear. She took her hand from the glass of the window and clenched a fist, feeling on her palm the cold contrast of her fingers due to bad circulation. She had been told twice in the same day she needed to get it checked, but she saw nothing unusual. Her hands were always cold, everyone always shied away from her sharp touch. Like the chilled breeze that came with a winter storm. You wanted to hide from it, warm yourself up. It came and went. Some days her hands were warm, others freezing to the touch. Sometimes the wind was there, sometimes it wasn't. Walking into the family room, a decent-sized room in her home that harbored a shelf, a television, a chair, the desk and the desktop computer, and a radio. She stood by the small table that held the tank for her beta fish, looking inside the cylinder. "Two years old. You're gettin' up there, buddy." She smiled sadly, leaning down with her hands on her knees to peek into his world. The Spongebob-themed decorations were empty. Her eyes searched, suddenly nervous. It was a matter of time now. He was old, slow, and didn't eat very much. The behaviors of her fish were as important to her as her dogs, and the other people. She loved that fish, and she knew that day, when she found him dead, she would be devastated. Though, today was not that day. She found him hidden in the faux plants, and she heaved a relieved sigh. "You scared me, there!" She called to the fish, standing straight, watching as he swam to the top, circling like an excited dog as I fed him his pellet-type food. I sat on the ground before the tank and watched him eat, following the pieces that got heavy with water and began to sink, chasing it, taking it, and then spitting it out. "You just like racing the food, don't you?" She asked every time, since this was just his habit. She watched his jaws move as he chewed the pieces he actually did choose to eat, his eyes turning to her as he swam up to the glass and followed her every movement. She smiled and waved to him, before she plugged her headphones into the computer speakers and sat down to write this small piece of... whatever this is.