N. Joseph Glass
Yours free for connecting: THE JFK PARADOX - an alternate history sci-fi short. Kennedy did not die on November 22, 1963. But was he supposed to survive Dallas? When US soldiers, envoys, and ambassadors start dropping dead, JFK faces an unimaginable plight and the most important decision of his presidency.
To Gaze Upon a Darkened Cloud
N Joseph Glass
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Copyright © 2025 by N. Joseph Glass
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The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
eBook ISBN: 979-8-9907484-3-9 Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9907484-4-6
Part One
Cloud Storm
One
As Michelle studied the front door through her windshield, the vegan leather seat gave no comfort to her squirming bottom. While it looked like every other farmhouse she had driven past, this one held her memories, her secrets, her hopes and ambitions. A time capsule.
In a moment of recantation, Michelle had decided not to revisit this memory. Some things were better left in the past.
Yet, after tearing herself from the office, she came. It had been too long, and the climate crisis had taken its toll on her parents. On everyone. If only her family would finally recognize the importance of her work, especially since the dark clouds came.
A glance at the path beside the barn summoned memories of childhood boredom broken only by bike rides to the riverbank. Trips to the mall had always required a drive her father seldom took in his Chevy Suburban, no matter how much his teenage daughter had begged.
The riverbed had dried out last year—another casualty of the dark cloud storms. Michelle had outgrown any desire to go to the mall.
Arms folded over the steering wheel, she thought of what she’d left behind in that house. Her thirst for a life not defined by birth and circumstance had dragged her from that nurturing environment. Though Michelle didn’t doubt her parents’ love, she knew her brother received more of their affection. Those two concepts often blended, but she knew the difference. Since her tumultuous departure for university sixteen years ago, the idea loitered in her parents’ eyes and slid into subtle comments. Her detachment from the family had left scars on the aging couple.
After a deep breath, Michelle tucked a lock of amber hair behind her ear and summoned the fortitude to pull herself from the seat. She grabbed her roll-aboard bag from the trunk and plodded toward the front steps. No breeze dared challenge the crease in her pressed black trousers. “One step at a time—you can do this,” she said, encouraging her hesitant feet. A silent reminder of her father’s speeches on how much safer it was here than in the big city twisted in her palm, and the door swung open. He didn’t need to speak the words, as the memories shouted in her mind. Those words would be spoken, nonetheless, as always.
A smile filled Bobby’s face, his eyes shining at the sight of his big sister. She wondered how long he had stood there, waiting for her to build up the nerve to open the door. After a hug that lifted her feet from the wood floor, he took her bag and said, “Hey, sis.”
The musky scent in the room filled her with recollections of her life in this place. Any freedom she’d enjoyed, the independence under which she now thrived, had vanished the moment she entered.
Nothing had changed in decades, except for signs of aging. Each wooden step sagged a little deeper. The scruffs and scratches had grown in number. Fractured light peeking through the window, outlining the front door, played with swirling dust motes. Michelle exhaled and slipped out of her Converse All Stars.
“I’ll take this to your room. Head into the kitchen—Mom’s there.” Bobby scurried up the stairs two at a time in his faded, mud-stained Wrangler jeans.
Michelle inched down the hall. The living room to the left showcased a new television facing the same plaid cloth sofa her little-girl bottom had sat upon for Saturday-morning cartoons on the old tube TV. Her mind brought forth an image of a younger man on Dad’s empty chair and her on his lap, bouncing and giddy.
To the right, a wall of memories rose with the stairs to tell a one-sided story—more photos of Bobby than of her and only one of Daniel. A family history as the family wished to tell it. A facsimile of reality. No one wanted to remember childhood punishments, adult arguments, teenage groundings, or those horrific “I hate you” moments every parent endured.
The familiar sight of her mother’s back and the rumble of flowing water awaited her across the island her dad had built a few years ago.
“Hi, Mom.”
Her mother turned from the sink, her bubble-laden hands dripping. After peeling off her yellow gloves, she closed the tap. “Hey, darling.”
A warm embrace filled Michelle with the reassuring feeling of home. She surrendered to the thought that this would always be that for her, no matter how long she stayed away or what she made of her life.
Falling into an old pattern, Michelle took up the drying rag while Mom handed her clean dishes, one at a time. Preliminary catch-up talk filled the spaces between clatters of porcelain and clinks of silverware. Bobby entered and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. The towel snapped against his rear like a horsewhip, and his big sister told him to make himself useful by putting the clean dishes away.
Michelle inquired about the horses. “How many do you have these days?”
Bobby splayed his fingers. “Five, counting our two. Been slow these last couple of years. With water so scarce, not many keep horses anymore.”
“It’s enough. And we’ve got plenty of well water.” Their mother closed the tap. “Five horses is a lot of work for the two of them.”
Michelle tried not to infer contempt in the words. “Is the money enough from only—Hey!” The pop of her brother’s towel slap made Michelle’s buttocks clench.
Bobby said, “Five’s basically the same work as eight, but for less money.”
“Eight’s probably too much for Dad. How’s he been?”
“Your father’s as strong as ever,” her mother replied. “You know how he loves caring for those horses. Treats the customers’ ones as good as our own.”
Bobby added, “He’s slowed down… ’cause of his heart. Our clients are good folk, and they understand.”
“Clients? How do they know more than…” She couldn’t finish the question.
“Dinner’s almost ready. You kids go set the table.”
How old would they be before she stopped calling them kids? It fit Bobby, half his sister’s age. He pursed his lips and shrugged as he schlepped the stack of dishes into the dining room.
“When Dad comes in, we all want to hear about your work on cloud forecasting. We won’t understand it much, but we’re right proud of you for it.”
Michelle beamed. “Don’t be too proud, little brother.”
Bobby rolled his eyes with his yeah right look.
“I was part of a team that worked it out. I… I mean we… have a long way to go, and I hope to improve predictability to more than a few hours.”
When their mother lugged the serving tray into the dining room, a wave of gravy crawled over the edge and splashed onto the floor. Bobby reached to take the tray from her. Refusing his help, she heaved it onto the edge of the table with a plate-rattling thud. As Michelle bent to wipe up the spill, Bobby centered the tray on the table. When Michelle’s father came in, they all sat, and he said grace.
“You should tell Mom and Dad how you worked with a team on your cloud-storm forecaster alert thing.” A juvenile smirk ran across Bobby’s face.
Her dad raised an eyebrow. “They teach teamwork at that fancy college?”
Swallowing before having fully chewed, Michelle readied herself for a snide retort. Bobby’s snickering poured fuel onto the fire.
Their mother patted her husband’s hand. “Hank, stop. This is supposed to be a nice family dinner. First one we’ve had in quite some time. Michelle’s here now—that’s what matters.”
“Well, I suppose we oughta be grateful our daughter spared a little time from that important job of hers for a visit.”
Red-faced, Michelle tried to control her volume. “My job is important. More so now that these cloud storms are here. I’m needed in DC. I think trying to save our environment is worthy of my time. As the leading authority on cloud storms, I can—”
“My world-famous daughter. I’m not saying we ain’t proud.” Her father’s tone softened. “It’d be nice to know you were proud of where you come from. Proud to be part of this family.”
A storm alert on everyone’s phones muted Michelle’s explosive comeback.
Two
Under a cloudless Ghanaian sky, Juliana had crossed the farms and open fields again today. She needed to help her younger sister, a widow with a newborn, who couldn’t handle motherhood alone. Though not a mother herself, Juliana skillfully burped her nephew, swaddled him, and put him to sleep just before Jonah phoned to warn her about the cloud-storm alert.
“Yes, I saw it on my phone,” she replied.
The clouds wouldn’t come for four hours.
“I’ll finish here and be back in plenty-plenty time.”
Her husband said, “If you are delayed, abeg, stay there and let it pass.”
“Of course. I’m almost finished—I’ll be home soon. I love you.”
“I love you more. See you soon.” Jonah hung up.
Unsure whether she’d settled his mind, Juliana let her smile fade into a sigh. Burying the prick of guilt she felt for neglecting Jonah, she dismissed her sister’s inquiry. That would only transfer the guilt to her sister, whose time of need had kept Juliana from her husband.
More than thirty years into a good marriage, they’d never argued as much as they did over the amount of time Juliana spent helping her sister—more time than she spent with her husband. A kind, gentle man, the hardworking farmer needed a woman’s care. Juliana’s mother, who lived in the same house, had picked up the slack.
Carrying such heavy thoughts, Juliana headed home with sufficient time to beat the clouds.
Or so she thought.
She shouldn’t have run. In her haste, Juliana hadn’t seen the creature under the pile of weeds and leaves. It must have been a carpet viper. A sharp pinch had buckled her leg, and she’d fallen hard.
The “sizzle” of its scales alerted her to the snake’s defensive posture. As it readied itself to strike again, Juliana rolled away, the tussle with the weeds ripping the phone from her hand. For more than two hours, she sat exposed, with nothing to protect her but her faith.
Everyone knew not to be caught outside when the dark clouds crowded the sky. But prayers to the Celestial Maker would carry her through this. Heralding the Glorious Transition, the storms meant salvation. No member of the Order had yet been lost to their fury. Since adopting this religion, she’d tried to convince her husband to embrace it as well. Although he supported her decision, Jonah held to none of the faiths he knew.
As an unearthly darkness descended over the field, hope dissolved from view. Juliana’s leg began to swell, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Overwhelmed by an irrational desire to look up, to see what no one had yet described, she pressed her eyelids closed. The whirring howl of fierce wind announced the narrow dust funnels spiraling around her.
The deadly rain would soon come.
“Look after my dear Jonah,” she implored the dark heavens.
Three
Sheltered safely in their cathedral, the twelve elders gathered.
With great care, the group had documented each occurrence since the first majestic clouds had filled the sky one hundred and eight weeks ago. As the storms increased in frequency and intensity, evidence of the nearing Transition had manifested. At this point, according to sacred tradition, those who wavered in their faith were to be cast out. There was no place for those lacking the resolve needed for what would come.
Cloaked in robes of crimson, the elders knelt in a circle outlined by candelabras in the center of the cathedral. They dropped their hoods to expose their shaved heads. Twelve voices vibrated through the musty air of the otherwise empty inner sanctum of the marble-block building.
“We welcome the Transition.”
The elders bowed, palms on the cold, hard tile.
“We welcome the Guide Couple.”
Twenty-four arms stretched toward the clouds beyond the ceiling.
“We welcome our glorious future.”
The chairperson reminded all of what they well knew—they needed to record accurate storm data for their clans. Each elder represented their clan and carried the charge to preserve their bloodline. Collective certainty said the Guide Couple had been born and would soon manifest their divine presence. No one knew which of the seven and a half million members of the Glorious Transition group, commonly called the Order, would be the couple to lead them through the nearing Final Days.
Silence battled the flickering light to dominate the room as the Twelve filled pages of their paper notebooks. All logged the details of the storms, from the exact time of the first sighting to the time it took to blanket the globe in darkness and how long they lasted. Each storm caused disappearances and deaths, but casualties never mattered unless a clan member died by direct cause of a storm funnel or its deadly rain. No clan members had been lost to the clouds.
By strict interpretation of the ambiguous Code, the elders met during every storm. While Elder Ferguson repeatedly wrote the same details, some new developments had occurred in recent storms. There has been no rain in the last seven months except when the dark clouds come. Their rain now burns the skin of humans and certain animals, and no one knows why. She doodled some clouds. Droughts continue to cause health and economic problems. Loss of life and crops are worsening the global financial crisis. Increased environmental decay exacerbating global warming and climate change has accelerated in recent months.
In addition to tracking cloud activity, these gatherings allowed them to discuss the status of their clans and address any issues or crises of faith among the believers. Elder Ferguson called the first point to order.
“What is the status of the alarming rise in teenage marriage?”
While no one elder held authority over the others, each meeting needed a chairperson, and they rotated the assignment every five years. The woman holding that position now had the distinct honor of being the one who would lead the group in welcoming the Guide Couple to usher them through the Transition.
Eleven elders said their clans had seen increases in teen marriage.
“Reduction in Clan Tartagni.” The youngest of the group led a clan from Italy that had spread into France, Spain, Croatia, and Greece.
All parents hoped their son or daughter would be part of the Guide Couple. Many of them arranged marriages to orchestrate fulfillment of the foretelling. Member couples parented many children, hoping to bestow upon themselves the honored title of Guide Progenitor. Rumbles among the others led the chairperson to conclude many doubted the veracity of Tartagni’s claim.
Elder Ferguson cleared her throat to stifle the murmur and collect the attention of the room. “I think we all find that hard to believe. Your clan has had some of the highest numbers among our people.”
“My people respect the Code.” His reply brought more grumbles.
While some saw the practice as a violation of the Code, it had a centuries-long history. Some parents subjected teenagers to marriage before the children reached their respective country’s legal age. Religious freedom laws gave some leeway, but several key court cases had brought unwanted notoriety to the Order. The most infamous came from Italy, when a nineteen-year-old boy married a girl of only thirteen.
Tartagni ignored the others. “And I believe we have found the Guide Couple.”