Yellow flakes spiraled down from above to settle on the city like the ash of some great holocaust. The yellowness that filled the air wasn't the pure color of a sunflower but rather a corrupted yellow like rancid butter. Near the ground, the dancing motes…

Rain fell hard, threatening to drown the city but never quite committing to finishing the job. Tonight there was no wind and people felt safe using their umbrellas. All of them moving slow under black domes gave the streets the air of a funeral procession…